


Second Thoughts

by Westwhistle (Whistle)



Category: Lancer - Fandom
Genre: Gen, Western
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-25
Updated: 2012-01-25
Packaged: 2017-10-30 03:19:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 33,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/327180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whistle/pseuds/Westwhistle





	Second Thoughts

Chapter 1

He paused, looking down from the top of the rise. Cattle bunched together in one of the pastures and he could see men on horses pushing them forward, could hear the steers bawl and a dog bark. It was well past the time to move the herd away from the close-cropped grass and depleted haystacks near the ranch buildings. But they had not had enough men to do the job, or others, not for many months. Everything was behind this spring, but the animals could not wait any longer. The pastures closest to the hacienda, the ones that had not been lost to fire, were nearly bare.

Some of the men had returned, shame-faced, once the news spread that the threat was gone. He did not want to hire them back but the patron said he would not hold it against them, not this time. It was not their fight, Senor Lancer said, and some had families to think about. It was better to hire men they knew than the drifters who were also coming into the valley now that it was safe again. At least they knew what they could expect.

The segundo was not so forgiving as his employer. The men and their families lived off the ranch in good times, and they had refused to defend it in the bad time. He would be ashamed to come back if he had run away. He had, of course, sent his young grandchildren to safety, but he and his son-in-law had fought for the ranch that was their livelihood, and for the patron.

These men had no pride, no cojones. He did not want them on his work crews, but it was not his decision. He knew the patron felt betrayed as well, but had set it aside for now. Perhaps he was right. They had so much work to do and they were still short-handed, even with the men who had returned. They had lost too many good men.

He sighed, thinking of those losses. Senor Paul, the ranch foreman and his compadre of many years, was the first to fall. They had nearly lost the patron at the same time. Cipriano still regretted fiercely that he had been away from the ranch on the black night when Senor Lancer and Senor Paul rode after the thieves who stole their best stallion. Perhaps, if he had been there to help, it might have ended differently.

But he had not been there, not until it was too late. And so, he had taken over and run the ranch while Paul's young daughter fought to keep the patron alive. The nina had grown up before their eyes. And she had somehow persuaded the patron to do something her father and the segundo had urged for many years. Murdoch Lancer had sent for his sons. They had come, both of them, and they had fought for the ranch. At least, one of them had. The second, well, he was not so sure what to think about the second son. The patron was even more uncertain, he guessed.

For many days, it looked as if it would make no difference what they thought. The young man was badly injured, one of the most seriously injured of the survivors. The doctor had been blunt, as always. He did not expect the second son to live.

The patron might not know what to think of him, but this was still his son, the little boy they had all loved so many years ago before the senora stole the child from the ranch and tore out their hearts. And so, the patron sat vigil by the bed, expecting to lose this son again.

Juanito had been a stubborn child, as strong-willed as his papa. And he had been a fortunate child as well, somehow escaping one reckless scrape after another, sometimes bruised but never daunted.

He was still that way, apparently, because he had defied the doctor's prediction. He was not fully recovered, not yet, but he was out of danger. So now, the patron had to make a decision.

Cipriano shook his head. He knew the rancher had offered partnerships to his two sons if they helped to defeat the high riders. Senor Scott, the elder son, had come up with a plan to make the raiders think the ranch was unguarded. The segundo had helped him lead the men back to the ranch through the pass and get them into position for the attack. Scott had done very well, far better than anyone expected from an easterner. He had earned his share.

But the younger son had apparently joined the raiders and then switched sides again. There was no question that, in the end, he had helped. Wounded, he had even managed to warn Senor Scott about Pardee, and just in time. Perhaps that was enough. Whatever his original intentions, he had nearly died and he had saved his brother from injury or even death. Still, Cipriano wondered about the young man and he knew the patron well enough to know he had just as many doubts, perhaps more. This one had cojones, yes, but could they trust him?

This hill might have held some answers, if only he had come here earlier when he first spotted the buzzards. But there had been no time and it was too late now to read much from the ground. He had buried what he found here, but he had not put any of his questions to rest.

A bridle jingled and he looked up, surprised when he saw the rider picking his way up the hill. He waited at the top, aware that the rider could not see him. The horse came over the crest and their eyes met.

"I did not expect to see you on a horse, Senor," Cipriano said calmly. "Your father told me the doctor would not allow it yet."

He had blue eyes like his father and brother, but a deeper, more intense blue. Cipriano looked into them but he could not tell from that remote face what the young man was thinking.

"Not up to the doc what I do," he said after a moment's silence, lifting his chin. "Or anyone else."

"It is not for the doctor's health that he gives these orders. Who saddled that horse for you?"

The young man ignored the question and unhooked the canteen looped over his saddle horn. He took a small sip, spitting it out. His eyes were on the ranch below them.

Cipriano felt his temper rise. "I asked you a question, nino."

He took another sip of water, swallowing it this time, and capped the canteen. The answer surprised the segundo, as did the small smile that quirked the corners of the young man's mouth. "Ain't no nino. Let's just say he didn't have a choice."

That was true. Few men would dare to refuse if Senor Johnny ordered them to do anything. One of the hands had recognized him, and the news had spread quickly through the bunkhouse and probably well beyond that by now.

Cipriano had already known who he was, but had not repeated it to anyone, not even his wife. Senor Lancer had told him in confidence, worried that he might be inviting even worse trouble to the rancho. His son's profession clearly angered and embarrassed him.

The segundo was not so sure it was cause for shame, not by itself. He had actually seen Johnny Madrid once in El Paso, never dreaming the young pistolero was the lost Lancer son. Some gunmen, like Pardee, were nothing more than cold-blooded killers; some had a sort of honor. Madrid had fought a fair fight when he saw him, against long odds, and won despite his youth. Cipriano would not want anyone in his family to work as a pistolero, but it was not necessarily a disgrace. It depended on the man. They did not know this man.

That small smile irritated the segundo. Whatever this young man was, he lacked respect for his elders. "To me, you are a nino," he said curtly. "I knew you when you wore diapers. And I turned you over my knee more than once when you misbehaved."

The smirk disappeared and a darker look replaced it. "Yeah? Better not try it now."

"I am not afraid of you."

"Maybe you should be," he shot back.

Cipriano stared at him, trying to see the child he remembered.

"What?" Johnny demanded.

"You have changed," Cipriano said.

"Since I was two?" To Cipriano's shock, a smile flashed across Johnny's face, a dazzling smile he did remember. "Hell, I'd hope so!"

The segundo allowed his mouth to curve upward just a little, conceding the point.

Johnny's smile disappeared as quickly as it appeared. He looked at Cipriano thoughtfully. "Did you really know me when I - when I was here before?"

"Of course. I have worked for your father since he first came here. I remember the day you were born."

"So you must've known my mama. Scott's too."

"Yes." Cipriano hoped Johnny would not ask about his mother. He did not know what to say. It would not be right for him to speak about Senora Lancer, not even to her son.

He did not ask. His head dropped and he played a little with his horse's mane. Cipriano wondered again what this young man was thinking. He probably did not remember anything of his life on the ranch. He was too young at the time.

He also wondered, not for the first time, about the boy's life after his mother took him from the ranch. It could not have been easy. She had run away with a gambler, but he was dead within six months, killed in a fight over a card game. The senora had already left him by then, disappearing into the border towns.

Senor Lancer had tried to find him. But Johnny probably knew nothing of that, nothing of his father's long anguish or the amount of time and money the patron had spent over the years. He probably only knew whatever his mother had told him. The patron would not have explained any of this to his son. It was not his way to explain himself.

Johnny lifted those blue eyes again, and fastened them on the shovel Cipriano carried that day on his saddle. "Been digging?"

Of all the questions he could have asked, most of them unanswerable, this was not one the segundo expected.

"I found a dead man on the hill, or what was left of him, and I buried him."

Johnny nodded. He didn't ask who the man was or how he died. Cipriano could not be sure but suspected Johnny already knew, better than he did. He could only guess. There had not been much left, not after more than a week, but it could have been one of Pardee's men, the large, bearded man who fought with Senor Scott at the store in Morro Coyo. The segundo had wondered, the day of the raid, where that man was.

He could not tell how the man died, but he had also found fresh bullet scars on some of the trees.

"It appears there was a fight here on the hill," he said aloud. "Perhaps you can tell me something about it."

Johnny dropped his head. "Think I'll head back to the house," he said after a minute. "Guess I am sort of tired."

Apparently, the young man also did not feel any need to explain himself. Like his papa, the segundo thought. "I will come with you," he said aloud.

"I don't need no minder."

"I did not suggest that you do. I have business there."

Johnny turned his horse without another word and started down the hill again. He kept his back straight, but had clamped his jaw tightly shut by the time they approached the arch. The doctor was right and he should not be on a horse. He made it to the barn, but his knees buckled when he was getting down from the horse. The segundo shot out a hand to keep him from falling.

Tomas ran outside to take the horses, his face guilty. He started to stammer when he saw the segundo, but Cipriano waved at him. "See to the horses. I will walk Senor Johnny to the hacienda."

"I can do it." Johnny tried to shake Cipriano's hand off his arm, but the segundo just tightened his grip.

Cipriano released Johnny's arm once they were inside the door. "Do you need help to get to your room?"

Johnny shook his head.

"You are sure?"

"Yeah." His eyes flickered upward briefly. "Thanks."

"Go upstairs. And please listen to the doctor and do not get Tomas into trouble again."

"No reason for him to be in trouble. I told you, I didn't give him a choice."

"Your father will not think so if he hears of this."

"Are you going to tell him? I don't care if you tell the old man I was riding, but leave the kid out of it."

"Go," the segundo repeated.

Johnny let out his breath. "You won't tell him." It wasn't a question, not any more, or an order either. It was a simple, sure statement of fact. That smile flashed again, before he turned and went up the stairs slowly.

The segundo finally heard a door open and close.

Chapter 2

The silence attracted Senora Baldemero's attention. Usually, the girls never stopped talking, ni por un momento. She didn't mind. She would never say so, certainly not to them, but she enjoyed their chatter. She knew most of the news in Morro Coyo from her work in her husband's store, but her granddaughter and nieces provided entirely another perspective.

Now, however, the talk and the laughter had stopped. They had stopped sewing too, she saw, when she looked into the back room. The three girls had gathered around the window, watching something outside the store. Maria-Luisa whispered something she couldn't hear, and the other two giggled.

Senora Baldemero cleared her throat.

The girls whirled around guiltily. Was Maria-Luisa blushing? The girl was only fifteen years old, although she would soon be sixteen. Senora Baldemero sighed. They were growing up, little girls one day and young women another, making eyes at boys.

True, she had married Senor Baldemero when she was not much older than her granddaughter. And she did not regret it, but things were different now. Maria-Luisa and her cousins went to school, and the family owned property, not just the store but also land. They were not rich and they lived plainly, but they were not peons either. There was no need to marry her granddaughter to the first boy who came along. They had even talked about sending Maria-Luisa to a fine convent school for a year or two. She would meet other Californio girls from good families there, and who knew what might come from that. Senora Baldemero had no great opinion of the boys in Morro Coyo.

She looked out the window as she waved her hands at the girls, shooing them back to their seats, and stiffened. Two men were standing in the alley, talking.

She was quite certain that her granddaughter was not looking at El Medico and making suggestive remarks to her friends. Dr. Jenkins was a good man, but he was nearly as old as Senor Baldemero.

No, it was the other man, a stranger to her. Her lips tightened as she looked at him, propped casually against the wall of the building next door. He was not so tall, not really much taller than the doctor, but he was lean and had an arrogant, entirely masculine energy the doctor lacked. The stranger wore snug leather calzoneros and a sun-faded pink shirt. Even without being able to see anything of his face, she could see why this man had caught these foolish girls' attention, but he also wore a holster low on his hip and she knew what that meant. A pistolero.

Her eyes narrowed and she made a small gesture to ward off evil. The valley had seen enough trouble from pistoleros. Their evil leader was gone at last, thanks to the sons of one of the great ranchos, and his followers had fled when he fell more than a week ago. It was not good if even one of them was back. She would have to speak to her husband.

The girls bowed their smooth dark heads over their needles, but she did not think for a moment they were paying much attention to their stitches. She scolded them, but her thoughts were still on the pistolero.

She heard the chatter begin again as soon as she left the room.

She did not have an opportunity to speak to Senor Baldemero, not right away. The storekeeper was busy with a customer at the back of the store. Senorita O'Brien was standing at the counter, patiently waiting her turn, and she hurried to assist the girl.

"Buenas tardes," she said. "You are well, chica? I have not seen you for many days."

"Buenas tardes, Senora." Teresa smiled. "I'm fine. I just haven't had a chance to come into town. It's been so busy at the ranch, cleaning up the damage and taking care of Mr. Lancer's son."

"He is better, si?" She knew Senor Lancer's second son had been wounded in the battle with the pistoleros. Dr. Jenkins had made many trips to the hacienda, and the priest at the mission church had read the young man's name at Mass. The entire valley knew the story. Senor Lancer had waited a long time for his sons to come home, and they had defeated the high riders, but it appeared at first that he would lose one of them again.

"Much better now, thank you. How is your family? The doctor told us your grandson, Felipe, broke his wrist."

"That boy," Senora Baldemero said, but her tone was indulgent. "He will be the death of his parents."

They turned to business, going over Teresa's list. It was not the rancho's large staple order, just a few things to fill in the chinks. Even so, they had filled two crates by the time they finished and Teresa signed her name to the account.

"Senor Baldemero will take the boxes out to your buckboard as soon as he finishes with Senor Jones."

"Oh, Scott will do that," Teresa assured her. "He went to the barber to get a haircut, but he should be along any minute."

"Senor Lancer's first son, the one you brought here to buy work clothes when he arrived?" Senora Baldemero was interested. "He is a handsome young man, chica."

Teresa blushed a little under the senora's gaze. "He's like a brother to me," she said. "Both of the boys are. It's so wonderful that they're both finally home."

Senora Baldemero looked into the girl's eyes, but saw nothing but innocence, more innocence than she saw these days in Maria-Luisa's eyes. She shook her head. Young men did not think of pretty seventeen-year-old girls as sisters, not in her experience. "They treat you well? With respect?"

"Yes, of course," Teresa said.

They both looked up as the bell on the door jangled, and Senora Baldemero frowned as she saw who had entered. It was the pistolero.

He was younger than Senora Baldemero would have guessed. His eyes flicked over the interior of the store before he came all the way in. Those eyes met Senora Baldemero's and she was surprised to see that they were blue.

They were cold, and his handsome face was expressionless. Everything about him screamed danger, from the low slung pistol on his hip to the cocksure way he carried himself. Senora Baldemero sketched a cross on her ample bosom and glanced toward the back of the store. Her husband and Senor Jones had rolled a barrel of flour out the side door, leaving Teresa and her alone.

"There you are," Teresa said happily. "Has Sam already finished with you? Scott isn't here yet."

His face changed, just a little, as he looked at the brown-haired girl. "Reckon I should go hurry him up some?"

"Well, it wouldn't hurt for you to visit the barber too," she retorted.

He grinned at that. The sudden smile transformed his face. Senora Baldemero was puzzled, but Teresa soon enlightened her. "Senora, I don't think you've met Mr. Lancer's younger son, Johnny. Johnny, this is Senora Baldemero. She and her husband own the store."

His smile had disappeared. He nodded coolly, and she had the uncomfortable sense that he knew her hand had gone to the shotgun they kept under the counter. She pulled it back and put both hands on the counter, her mind reeling. She remembered Johnny Lancer as a much-loved infant and toddler. She had heard some whispers about Senor Lancer's younger son in the days since the defeat of the land pirates, but she had not believed the talk. The sweet, impish little Juanito she remembered could not have grown into a killer. It was impossible. And yet, as she looked into that remote face now, she could see the resemblance to Senora Lancer - the beautiful and entirely heartless Senora Lancer.

The silence in the store lengthened, and he turned to Teresa. "That your stuff? Want me to put it in the buckboard?"

"You know you're not supposed to lift anything yet, Johnny. Scott can do it when he gets here."

He shrugged. "Guess I'll wait outside then." He touched a finger to his hat, but the gesture was anything but respectful. "Senora."

"Senor," she responded formally.

Teresa's face was confused. She looked at Senora Baldemero as Johnny left the store, spurs jingling. "Is something wrong?"

Senora Baldemero recalled her wandering thoughts. She spoke carefully. "Teresa, there has been some talk about Senor John but I did not think it could be true."

"And you do now?" Teresa lifted her chin defiantly.

"They say he knew Pardee and rode with him. They say he is also a pistolero."

"He was just trying to protect us," Teresa argued. "Johnny fought for the ranch. He nearly died for it."

"Are you sure, child?"

"Of course I am. I saw what happened that day with my own eyes. And I've been taking care of him ever since. He was so badly hurt we didn't even think he'd live, not at first. He's still not as recovered as he pretends. I know what he's really like."

"I hope so, chica. I hope so."

"I do," Teresa insisted.

"Teresa?" Another man, a tall, blond man, stood in the door. "Have you finished your shopping?"

She turned. "Yes, Scott. It's all ready to go."

He advanced into the store and greeted Senora Baldemero courteously before he picked up one of the boxes. "Johnny is in a foul mood," he said to Teresa. "He nearly bit my head off outside. I suppose the doctor told him that he still can't ride?"

"I hope so," Teresa said. "He's not ready yet."

"Well, don't tell him that," Scott suggested. "It's a long drive back to Lancer. I'm not so sure he should have come with us today." He carried the box outside and returned for another.

Teresa pulled her gloves on and prepared to follow him. "Goodbye, Senora Baldemero," she said politely.

"Chica, if what I said offended you, it is not because I wished to do so. I am worried about you."

"Thank you, but there's really no need." Teresa followed her foster brother outside. Senora Baldemero went to the front windows to watch as Scott helped her into the Lancer buckboard. The girl sat in the middle between the two brothers. The dark-haired pistolero had tilted his hat down, hiding his eyes.

Chapter 3

"I don't even know if he can sign his name."

Cipriano cocked his head. He did not think his employer had meant to say that aloud, not from the dull red that stained the back of the rancher's neck, rising toward his ears.

He could pretend he had not heard the comment, of course, but that was not his way or the patron's. They had known each other too long for that.

The segundo kept his eyes on the dark-haired young man standing in the paddock. He was schooling the palomino the doctor still would not let him ride.

Senor Johnny had broken the horse to the saddle quickly and ruthlessly the morning after he arrived. Now he had time on his hands, too much time, and he had lavished many idle hours on the golden horse.

He knew more about horses than the segundo expected, but had little to say about how he had learned. Cipriano had observed that he must have worked with horses at some point, but got nothing but an elusive smile.

Cipriano had no idea if the patron's second son knew how to sign his name, but he did know the young man was not stupid, far from it.

"Mi esposa invited Senor Johnny to supper last night, while you and Senor Scott were away," he said.

"I hope to God he behaved."

"Si, of course. Afterward, we played dominos."

Murdoch lifted a brow. As played by the men in the Californio community, the game was an incredibly fast-paced strategic battle. He had tried it a few times and retired from the field. Cipriano was formidable at dominoes or chess, but the two of them usually played chess. Cipriano won most of those games too.

"How did he take it when he lost?"

"He did not lose."

"You're not telling me that Johnny beat you at dominoes?"

"He did," Cipriano said. "He is a good player."

"Or a damn lucky one."

The segundo's eyes crinkled. "No, it was not luck."

The patron was not stupid either, but he took no comfort from the story. "He was a bright child," he said gloomily. "But I don't know if he's ever been to school. He may not know how to read or write."

Cipriano knew the idea was painful for him, perhaps as painful as knowing his son had lacked adequate food, clothing and shelter as a child. Murdoch treasured his books, well-thumbed companions during too many lonely nights. He made sure all the ranch employees' children had the chance to attend school. On some ranches, children went to work as soon as they were big enough to be any help, but not on Lancer. The patron would not allow it. The wages were not generous, but they were fair and sufficient for a man to support a family. And he was generous about providing decent housing for families, with garden plots to grow vegetables and raise hens and pigs. The children did not need to work for wages, as they did on some ranchos.

"If it is necessary, he can learn."

Murdoch sighed, his eyes going back to his son. "It's such a waste," he said. "I'll never understand why his mother took him with her."

There was no possible answer to that.

"Has he said anything about her?" Murdoch didn't look at him when he asked.

"No," Cipriano said. "Nothing."

"She must be dead, but I wish she'd told him the truth first." Murdoch kept his eyes on his son and the horse. "She - she told him that I didn't want him, that I kicked both of them out. That's why he didn't ever come home or try to get in touch with me."

That explained a lot, including the young man's simmering anger when he arrived. Cipriano sighed inwardly. He knew the contents of Murdoch's Pinkerton reports.

Whatever had happened to his mother, they knew Johnny had been on his own by the time he was twelve, perhaps even earlier. They also knew he was aware of his real name, since he'd used it in a Texas jail. Cipriano had wondered why the boy did not attempt to contact his father when he lost his mother, and he was sure Murdoch wondered too, but it made sense if Johnny believed his mother's lies.

After the Texas jail, there was another long gap in the reports until Johnny Madrid surfaced three years later. The agents had not made the connection between the gunfighter and the lost Lancer son until six months ago, not long before the first raid on the ranch. Johnny had used the name again in a small town.

Cipriano did not know if it was chance or fate that an alert Pinkerton agent saw Johnny Lancer's name on the hotel register when he passed through a few weeks later on other business. Johnny had already moved on, but the sheriff told the agent the hotel's guest was really a gunfighter named Madrid. When the Pinkertons did some digging into Madrid's background, the pieces of the puzzle fell together.

The patron thought it was chance and was not sure it was a fortunate one. Paul and Cipriano had urged him to send at once for his son, but he had hesitated.

Cipriano had read the reports on Johnny Madrid and understood the rancher's reservations. None of them could understand why the boy hadn't sought out his father. Now they knew. Johnny looked like his mother but the segundo could see his father's stubborn pride in him. No, if Senora Lancer had told her son the rancher had kicked them out, Johnny would not go to his father for help. He would starve first.

It was a waste, but it was the past and they could not change it. The question now was the future.

"How's Scott doing?" The patron changed the subject.

The segundo hesitated, choosing his words. The elder son was intelligent and interested. He had asked dozens of questions as they rode the ranch together. He was a fine young man, a son that any man could be proud of. But Cipriano did not know if he would make a rancher. He knew nothing of the land, nothing about livestock, and had obviously never done any physical labor. The men and their lives were alien to him.

"It is all new to him," Cipriano finally said. "He has a lot to learn."

"He should have grown up here too." The patron's face was sour.

"Perhaps the two of them together can learn what they need to know," the segundo ventured.

"What can Johnny possibly teach Scott? He's a gunfighter."

"He knows things Senor Scott cannot learn from a book," Cipriano said. "Senor Johnny is not a rancher either, but he knows something about it and he gets along with the men."

"There's a difference between playing poker in the bunkhouse and bossing a crew," Murdoch grumbled.

Cipriano did not answer. The men knew Scott had been an Army officer and that he had courage, but that did not mean they would not take advantage of the easterner's inexperience. Even the steadiest hands would question if he knew enough to direct them. And, in truth, he did not.

"The two of them have nothing in common," the rancher said after a pause. "They don't get along that well."

"They are brothers. If they fight a little, that is the way of brothers." Cipriano turned up his hands. "And a little competition, well, that is also a way for brothers to learn."

"It's dangerous to fight with Johnny."

"Senor Johnny will not hurt his brother. He does not understand why Senor Scott risked his life, and he does not like it, but he owes him something for that." Cipriano was sure about that, as sure as he could be.

Murdoch thought it over. "Do you think there's really any chance that Johnny will stay?"

He did not know how to answer. There was a restlessness in the boy, but he did not know how much of it was due to the doctor's restrictions and how much of it was always there. They did not know him well enough to tell. "No se."

Chapter 4

"Madrid?" Senora Baldemero took a pan of enchiladas out of the oven. "Johnny Madrid?"

"Si," her husband said.

"It must be a mistake," she said, brushing a wisp of hair off her forehead with the back of a plump hand. "Madrid is dead. You said it was in the newspaper that the rurales killed him."

"The newspaper must have made a mistake."

"How did he escape then?"

"His papa sent an agent to find him, and he bribed the rurales to let Senor Johnny go."

"Bah." She shook her head vigorously. "I do not believe it. They would take the money, si, but they would not let him go."

He shrugged. "Angel has seen Madrid and he says it is the same man."

Angel was Alfredo's nephew, also recently arrived from Mexico. His name was misleading. He too had managed to get himself into trouble with the rurales, but it had more to do with drunken carousing than a hopeless revolution. His widowed mother had packed him off to his relatives in California, and Alfredo had persuaded Cipriano, the Lancer segundo, to give him a job.

It was just as well, she thought, that Angel was staying in one of the Lancer bunkhouses and not in the town, where Maria-Luisa and her cousins would moon over him. He was not a pistolero, but he was a feckless young man with no prospects at all. She resolved to speak to her son and daughter-in-law again about the convent school.

"Senor Lancer is a good customer," Alfredo said. "And he has been a good friend to us. We will treat his son with respect."

"Of course." She gave him a surprised look as she put dishes on the table. "I meant no disrespect, Alfredo. When he came into the store last week, I did not know who he was at first. And I was surprised when Teresa told me."

"Some of the other ranchers told Senor Lancer they do not want him here."

She frowned. "It is not their business."

"That is what Senor Lancer told them."

Her frown deepened. "Are they upset that he is a pistolero?"

"That is what they say."

Their eyes met. The valley had never approved of Senor Lancer's young Mexican wife or her blue-eyed son. Senora Baldemero did not entirely approve either, but the little boy had been adorable and entirely innocent.

He was not innocent now. Far from it, she thought, remembering the pistolero. Even so, he was Senor Lancer's son and it was not for anyone else to say if he should stay or go.

"There was trouble in the saloon in Green River last night," Alfredo said, digging into a generous helping of enchiladas. "The Newman brothers said something to the Lancer hands about Senor Johnny and started a fight. That is why Angel did not attend Mass this morning."

"He was hurt?"

"He was in jail," Alfredo admitted. "The sheriff arrested everyone."

She hissed. "I know he is your sister's son, Alfredo, but he is no good."

"He is young, and the Newman brothers provoked the fight. You know what they are like, Esperanza."

She did, but it did not help. If Angel was not wasting his time and money in the saloon, the Newmans could not provoke him.

"Were Senor Lancer's sons arrested too?"

"No, they were not there. The doctor will not let Senor Johnny ride so far yet, and Senor Scott stayed at the ranch too."

"That is what Angel should have done."

He did not bother to argue about it. "Senor Newman is angry that his sons were arrested. He is one of the ranchers who told Senor Lancer to send Senor Johnny away. He and Senor Lancer had words about it again this morning in Green River."

Her lips tightened. Senor Newman and his sons had arrived in the valley less than a year ago. They did their business now in Green River, although their ranch was closer to Morro Coyo. Senor Newman told people he wanted to do business with an Anglo storekeeper, but that had not stopped him from running up a large bill first. He had switched stores when the Baldemeros refused to extend any more credit until he paid something on his account.

He still had not paid. His ranch was not so large as Lancer but it was prosperous enough. Senor Lancer had always settled his account promptly every month.

"Do the other ranchers agree with Senor Newman?"

"Not Senora Conway or the Comptons, but many of the others. They know about Madrid, and they are afraid."

She could not blame them for that. She had felt the same way when she saw him. But perhaps she had judged too hastily.

Another opportunity came sooner than she expected, thanks to her scapegrace grandson. Felipe fell on his injured wrist during recess Monday, playing a forbidden game of tag, and the teacher sent Maria-Luisa to escort him to his grandparents' store. Felipe insisted it was fine, but Senora Baldemero was not about to take any chances. She sent his sister back to school and dragged the eleven-year-old to Dr. Jenkins' office, scolding all the way.

Murdoch Lancer and his younger son were already sitting in the doctor's waiting room. Senor Lancer greeted her in Spanish and introduced his son, a little stiffly.

Johnny didn't look every inch a deadly gunman today. His face was as rebellious as Felipe's.

"We have met," she said. "I am sorry, Senor Madrid. I did not welcome you home properly last week."

Johnny glanced at his father. "Just Johnny's fine, ma'am."

"Johnny Madrid?" Felipe's eyes widened. "Are you truly Johnny Madrid?"

He was clearly impressed. Senor Lancer, she saw, was not. His jaw clenched.

"Felipe, do not bother Senor Johnny," she ordered. "Sit quietly while we wait to see the doctor."

The boy subsided but he kept peeking at Johnny, fascinated.

Johnny's mouth twitched. "How did you break your wrist?" he asked Felipe in Spanish. His father was fluent, but Johnny spoke the language like one of them. He was, she supposed, even if his father was a gringo.

Felipe looked shamefaced. "Es stupido," he admitted reluctantly. "I fell off my pony."

"Yeah? I've done that."

"You have?" Felipe brightened. "Really?"

Johnny nodded. "Second time I busted my arm was falling off a horse when I was about your age."

Senor Lancer looked up, as if he wanted to ask a question, and then buried his face again in a newspaper.

"It is not so exciting as getting shot," Felipe said mournfully.

"Nothing exciting about that," Johnny told him. "Getting yourself shot is stupid, kid."

"Not so long as you win the fight," Felipe argued.

"Even if you win," Johnny said firmly. "I know."

Felipe was prepared to argue, but the doctor looked into the room. "Ready to get the last of those stitches out, John?" His brows rose when he saw Senora Baldemero and Felipe. "What happened?"

"It is nothing, Doctor Sam," Felipe said quickly. "I'm fine."

Dr. Jenkins smiled. "As I keep telling this other young man, I'll be the judge of that, Felipe." He looked enquiringly at Senora Baldemero, who explained.

"I'll take a look at him as soon as I finish with John."

"He can go first," Johnny offered. "Better not wait if he did any damage, Doc."

Senor Lancer cleared his throat. "He's right, Sam. Take the boy first."

Senora Baldemero thanked them warmly while Sam took Felipe into the examination room. Both Lancers looked embarrassed. Senor Lancer quickly changed the subject. "Senora Baldemero knew you when you were a child, Johnny."

"It is true," she said. "Your papa used to bring you into town."

"I don't remember." His voice was flat.

"You were too young, Juanito, not even dos anos the last time I saw you."

He flinched at the Spanish diminutive. His mama had called him that, she remembered. She also remembered Maria Lancer, but not so fondly. Senora Lancer had been very young, but that did not excuse her behavior.

"You loved to ride with your papa on his horse," she said, smiling at the memory. "And he was so proud of you. You were too small to be riding, but he took good care of you always."

He shot a strange look at her, just for a second, before his face closed. The pistolero was back.

Chapter 5

Cipriano knew the doctor's orders. Johnny could ride and do light work, but no lifting. He was not supposed to do anything too strenuous and he was supposed to work half days.

The first morning, Murdoch assigned him to ride with the segundo and observe. "You can get an idea of where things are, and what the work is like."

Johnny listened, his face innocent, but Cipriano knew he had explored the ranch already. The doctor had allowed him to take short rides on a docile old horse, not the spirited palomino, but he'd ranged far out of bounds while Murdoch was elsewhere.

Cipriano had not interfered. He had kept an eye on him as far as possible to make sure he came to no harm.

He still did not know what to think of the young man, but found it difficult not to like him. Out of his father's company, Johnny sometimes dropped his guard. Cipriano could see flashes of what he should have been, and they saddened him.

Johnny had charmed the women, who fussed over him like mother hens with a new chick. That was not necessarily a sign that a man could be trusted, on the contrary, but even Cipriano's formidable wife had fallen. Elena usually had no trouble judging the true character of young men.

His eyes had lit up when he came to their house for supper and Elena served them spicy tortilla soup, followed by chicken in mole sauce with black beans and rice. The meal ended with natillas, and Johnny had given her his best smile and thanked her extravagantly after he scraped the last spoonful of the sweet, cinnamon-dusted custard from his dish. She ruffled his hair and refused his offer to help clear the table, sending him out to the porch to play dominos with her husband. She had lost her heart again, even if she was stern with him. She had also been stern when Juanito was a child, but she had mourned for him as if he were her own. Cipriano was not sure exactly what had touched her about the young man. He was not foolish enough to question it.

Johnny was riding the palomino this morning. The patron had frowned at that but said nothing, not even when it turned in circles in the yard. Johnny settled it quickly and was keeping a tight rein on it, but they both seemed to have a surplus of restless energy.

Cipriano sighed. He was sure that galloping the palomino fell in the category of strenuous activity. He was equally sure it was going to happen, one way or another.

Senor Scott had ridden out with his father to visit another ranch and discuss the spring roundup. The patron seemed eager to show off his elder son to his neighbors.

Of course, it would not be wise to take Senor Johnny to see many of the neighbors, who had already made it clear he was not welcome. A delegation from the cattle growers association had visited Lancer last week to ask when Murdoch intended to send the gunfighter on his way. They understood that he was injured and were willing to wait until he recovered, but not much longer.

The patron had been furious. Cipriano did not think Murdoch knew if he wanted his second son to go or stay, but he did not like it when anyone told him what to do.

That was something else the rancher had in common with his son. The segundo's eyes went again to the young man, riding ahead. Johnny looked like his mother, but he was like his father in other ways. Cipriano thought he would react just like Murdoch if he knew what the neighbors had said.

He did not know, not yet.

The palomino was ranging ahead. Cipriano spurred his horse to catch up. "The pasture is a few miles to the west," he said to Johnny, who gave him an enquiring look. The ground is good for the next mile and we might as well let the horses run."

A smile rewarded him, the one that lit up Johnny's face.

"Wait for me at the clump of cottonwoods," the segundo added.

He nodded and let the palomino have its head. Cipriano followed, but the golden horse outpaced his cowpony easily. Johnny was riding all out, his hat bouncing behind him on its stampede strings. Whatever else they were, both of the patron's sons were good riders.

Johnny had slid down and was walking the horse to cool it when Cipriano caught up.

"He is fast," the segundo said, looking at the palomino.

"Si." Johnny caressed the horse and gave Cipriano another smile, almost shy. "Thank you for picking him out. He's the best horse I've ever ridden."

"There is no need to thank me. No one else could break him and I did not expect that you would either, but your papa and I were curious."

"So it was a test?"

"In a way." Cipriano had not ridden hard, but he also dismounted to walk his horse. "We needed to know something about you, and there was no time."

It seemed to amuse him more than it bothered him. "Damn fool thing to do. The old man needed my gun more than he needed a horse wrangler."

"He wanted to know if you had cojones enough to be of any use," Cipriano said.

Johnny looked at him, still amused. "He told us he wanted our arms, legs and guts."

"It is not easy to build or to hold a ranch this size. A man does not do that for himself, Juan."

He did not like it when people called him by the Spanish version of his name. Cipriano had noticed it before and wondered why, but did not always remember. "Johnny," he corrected.

That small smile returned at the concession, but Johnny did not seem to want to discuss this. He changed the subject. "This is a pretty place. There must be a stream nearby, right, or a water hole?"

"There is a small water hole," Cipriano said, pointing. "Over there, on the other side of the trees. It is fed underground and rarely goes dry, even in summer."

Johnny nodded. "Thought so when I saw the cottonwoods. Bet it's full of snakes, huh?"

It was the kind of thing he would know, and Senor Scott did not. "Si," Cipriano said. "We do not use it often. There is quicksand on the bank. It is better to use the river, which is not far."

Johnny nodded. "You ready to go? Before the old man blames me for keeping you from your work?"

He frowned at the disrespectful tone, but nodded.

The crew was huddled together, talking instead of working, when they arrived in the pasture. They looked relieved to see the segundo.

"Where is the rest of the stock?" Cipriano demanded. This pasture should have held a hundred Herefords. It did not, nothing like it.

"There is a break in the fence, Senor," Angel Ruiz said. "We were just waiting for you to arrive to tell us if you wish us to go ahead and move these cattle, or go after the ones that escaped, or fix the fence."

Idiots. This was a young crew but surely one of them had a brain in his head. They could have started any of those jobs, and instead they had done nothing at all.

Johnny touched his spurs to the palomino and went to look at the fence on his own. He returned while Cipriano was laying the crew out in Spanish for wasting time.

"I'd say about twenty head went through the gap a couple of hours ago."

"Rustlers?" Cipriano said.

Johnny shrugged. "Maybe, but it doesn't look like anyone cut the wire. It's rusty, and might have just broke. The ground's so trampled it's impossible to tell for sure."

Fence repairs were among the chores they had left undone for too long. "Ruiz, you will ride with me to find the missing stock," Cipriano ordered. "The rest of you, go ahead and move the cattle as you were told. There is not enough graze here."

Johnny fell in with Cipriano and Ruiz. "Perhaps you should go with the others," the segundo suggested. "I don't know how long this will take."

"Murdoch told me to tag along with you this morning." Johnny was wearing his innocent expression again.

Chapter 6

It was not a difficult trail to follow. Twenty cattle left clear marks.

It also quickly became clear that no one was herding the animals, since they soon straggled off in various directions.

Johnny easily followed the trail through the trampled grass and chased the strays with zest. Cipriano hung back, curious, watching the two younger men. Angel was more skilled with his lariat, but Johnny was not so bad and seemed to have a knack for anticipating which way a recalcitrant steer would break. He and the palomino worked well together, considering that both were green. Those hours in the paddock had not been a waste of time.

Angel was not usually an enthusiastic worker, far from it, but the chase turned into a sort of game between them to see what they could do. The segundo smiled. That was the way of young men, and even some older ones who should know better.

He hoped to see the same type of rivalry emerge between the brothers if the patron took his advice and assigned them to work together. They would both learn something. At least, they would learn something if Senor Johnny did not break his neck first. He was too reckless. Perhaps Senor Scott could temper that and teach his hermano to use more sense. Watching Johnny cut in front of a running steer, inches from disaster, Cipriano began to better understand what he thought had happened on that hill above the hacienda on the morning of Pardee's final attack. There was such a thing as too much confidence.

They had collected fourteen of the strays when the segundo called a halt. Soon they would cross the western border of the ranch onto Newman land, and he did not think it was a good idea to take Johnny there.

"We will go on while you return to the hacienda," he said to Johnny. "Tell your father why we are delayed. He should be back by the time you get there."

"I'll help you find the rest of them."

"It is already past eleven," the segundo said, glancing at the sun. "You should have started for home before now. You will be late as it is."

"I'm fine."

Ciprano did not doubt it. He had watched to make sure Johnny did not push himself too hard, but had only interfered once, when they dismounted to pull a steer from a gully. Still, Johnny's health provided a useful excuse and he used it. "The doctor said half days."

"And he said not to let me go riding off on my own." The mischief was clear, despite the virtuous tone. "Isn't that why you got stuck minding me today?"

It was true, although Cipriano thought the doctor's real concern was to make sure the young man followed his other orders.

"Angel can drive the ones we already found back to the rest of the herd," Johnny suggested. "They're just slowing us down."

He thought for a moment. "The two of you can take them back. I will get the others."

Cipriano knew that plan did not make good sense, and was not surprised when Johnny's eyes narrowed suspiciously. A distant gunshot interrupted the discussion before Johnny answered. His hand went swiftly to his gun. "What's nearby?"

"We are not far from the road. It is perhaps a half-mile to the west."

"That's the boundary isn't it?" Johnny had apparently studied the map of the ranch. "What's on the other side?"

"Another ranch." The Newman house was not so distant from the road as the Lancer hacienda. In fact, now that he thought about it, it was not far. Cipriano cursed himself inwardly for failing to send Johnny home earlier.

"Let's go look."

"You should return to the hacienda," Cipriano said. "Your father will be worried if you aren't there at noon."

He got a disbelieving look. Johnny swung into his saddle. "Angel, you stay here with the cows."

Cipriano noted sourly that the young man seemed to have no difficulty at all in bossing the employees. Johnny was already riding toward the road. He mounted hastily and caught up.

"Wait." His voice was sharp. "These neighbors ..."

Johnny glanced at him. "Thought Murdoch said he got along OK with his neighbors."

"He had a disagreement with Senor Newman just recently."

"Newman, huh? Any relation to the Newmans who got into that dust-up with the hands Saturday night?"

"Their father," he admitted cautiously.

"You know, I didn't hear exactly what the fight was about."

He wasn't going to hear it now. Cipriano closed his mouth firmly.

"You might as well tell me. I could ask Angel."

He was not going to take no for an answer. Cipriano had seen that obstinate expression before, on another Lancer's face. "The Newmans said something insulting. It does not matter what it was."

"Then it won't matter if you tell me." Johnny's voice was soft. "I like to know what I'm getting into."

"It is garbage," the segundo said. "They said something about you and your mother."

He showed no emotion on his face, but his hand tightened on the reins. "Wouldn't be the first time. Why would that start a fight?"

"It would not be right to let them insult you or the patron."

"They busted up the saloon over that?" He didn't sound as if he believed it. "They must have been drunk."

"Well, that too," Cipriano admitted.

The corner of Johnny's mouth turned upward. "I didn't even get to go into town and still managed to cause trouble, huh? No wonder Murdoch was mad."

"He was not angry at you."

"No?" He definitely did not believe that. "So, do you figure we'll have trouble collecting those cows if they've strayed onto Newman land?"

"It would be better if I went alone."

"Not a chance." His face was hard and he no longer looked so young. "I can fight my own battles."

"Juanito," he started and stopped. "Johnny, there is more. Senor Newman knows about Madrid and he has been talking to the other ranchers. It is not a good idea for you to go on his land."

"I'm just going to fetch some Lancer cows," Johnny said, checking his gun. He spun the cylinder and replaced it in the holster. "I don't need help."

The segundo lifted his own gun from its holster and checked it, his face bland. "We will both go," he said. "As you said before, you are not supposed to ride off on your own."

"Cipriano," Johnny said. "Stay with Angel."

"No."

He got a death stare. It should have alarmed him, would have alarmed him a week ago, but it did not.

"No," he said again. Two could play that game.

Johnny's hand shot out and grabbed the older man's reins. "Are you loco?" he demanded. "I can handle this myself. You have a family."

"So do you, nino." Cipriano met his eyes. "So do you."

Chapter 7

Senora Baldemero scowled at the buggy, tilted crazily to one side. The wheel had come off when they hit a deep rut in the road, and it was a miracle that none of them were injured. She would light a candle in the church and give the livery owner a piece of her mind when they returned to town.

First, though, unless someone happened by, she would have to walk a long way. She looked down the road in both directions, sighing. They were not far from the Newman ranch. She would prefer not to ask for help there, but it was seven miles to Morro Coyo on this back road. That was nothing when she was young, but it was much too far for a woman of her years and bulk.

The buggy horse was a swaybacked nag with a tendency to snap if anyone got too close. They could not all ride it. Even if she knew how to get onto its back or stay there without a saddle or bridle, she did not trust it. They had unhitched it from the buggy and let it graze in a meadow next to the road.

Felipe was in the meadow too, throwing a stick to his dog. She had told him to shut the dog in the shed before they left, but it had somehow escaped and followed them.

It might be good to have a dog with them. It was a large animal and looked fierce, even if it was likely to jump on a bandito and lap his face. Its plumed tail waved in the air as Felipe capered across the field, the stick in his good hand.

"Felipe!" she called. "Come and take this basket. We must be on our way."

"Are we going to walk all the way home, Abuela?" Maria-Luisa asked. "It's so far, and the road is so dusty."

"A little dust will not hurt you," she said. "Take one handle of the hen's basket, chica. Felipe, no, I will take the other handle. You will carry the vegetables."

They had been to visit cousins who farmed some of Senor Baldemero's land, and were returning with a setting hen to replace the one that a fox stole while Felipe's dog slumbered peacefully on his bed. She never should have allowed the dog to sleep in the house. That was not where a dog belonged, but she had given into the appeal in two pairs of caramel-colored eyes.

It was a mile to Senor Newman's gatepost. It seemed longer. When she was a girl, she had walked many miles, but her poor feet did not have as much to carry.

The dog ranged ahead and so did Felipe, who did not have to be so careful with his basket of spring greens. She called him back, her voice sharp.

She was relieved when she heard men's voices nearby. Perhaps they would not have to walk all the way to the house. They left the road and walked through the trees toward a bright pasture.

The shot was a shock.

"Fidel!" Felipe shrieked, running to fling his arms around his dog.

Senora Baldemero scolded the Newman brothers furiously. The dog was not injured, so far as she could see, and neither were her precious grandchildren, but that was no thanks to these careless louts.

"I heard something crashing through the trees and didn't know it was a dog," Danny Newman protested when she paused for breath.

"Then you should not have shot your gun at him," she retorted. "What if you had shot my Felipe, or Maria-Luisa?"

Danny gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. He was the youngest Newman, no more than twenty, although he was as large as the other two.

"What if he had?" his eldest brother said. "You shut up, Danny. You don't have to apologize for nothing. They're trespassing on our land. What are you doing here anyway?"

She glared at him. "Our buggy broke down on the road to Morro Coyo," she said.

"Yeah? Well, you should have stayed on the road. You got no business here. Turn around and git."

Her eyes widened. She did not expect a warm welcome, but she did expect that they would offer assistance to a woman and two children. It was only decent.

"Tom," Danny said uneasily. "I can hitch up one of the wagons and take them into town."

"They got feet, don't they? We got better things to do."

He was adamant. Senora Baldemero made up her mind quickly. Among other things, she did not like the way the silent middle son was leering at Maria-Luisa.

"We will be on our way," she said with all the dignity she could muster. "Come, ninos."

They were trudging back toward the road when the riders appeared. She recognized the Lancer segundo with relief, even though the pistolero was with him.

"Senora Baldemero?" Cipriano reined in his horse, clearly surprised. "Is something wrong?"

She explained their predicament in rapid Spanish.

Cipriano shot a look at his employer's son, who was sitting casually on a golden horse. "We will be happy to assist you, Senora. If Senor Johnny will take Felipe, you and Maria-Luisa can ride my horse back to your buggy. He can bring my horse back to me and then we will see if we can fix the wheel for you."

"Maybe we should go and teach those brothers some manners first." The voice was soft, with no heat in it, but the hair rose on the back of Senora Baldemero's neck.

"No," she said. "Please, Senors, I do not want to make any trouble. I just want to go home."

The pistolero hesitated for a moment before he nodded slightly.

Cipriano boosted Felipe onto the palomino's back. "Before you come back for me, go and tell Angel to start back to the ranch with the cattle we found."

"What about the other strays?"

"You and I will return later, or I will send someone else to look for them."

Cipriano led his horse over to a tree stump, and helped Senora Baldemero step onto it. From there, he hoisted her into his saddle, a major undertaking for both of them. Once she was up, she clutched the saddle horn and wondered how she would ever get down again. It had been a long time since she rode a horse. She was uncomfortably high above the ground.

The segundo easily lifted Maria-Luisa up behind her. He seemed to be worried about something. "Be careful when you reach the buggy," he said to Johnny. The young man flashed a smile at him.

"No way around it," Johnny said. "Unless you want to take Barranca and I'll wait for you?"

"No," Cipriano said. "You go, but take care."

Senora Baldemero did not understand the exchange, not until they reached their destination. Felipe had slid down, his eyes shining at the adventure, and was frisking in the road with his dog. Johnny helped Maria-Luisa down and then looked up at her, a crooked smile on his face. She remembered then about his recent injury.

"You cannot help me," she said.

"Sure I can, ma'am."

There was not even a convenient stump. And, in truth, she did not know how she was ever going to swing her leg over the horse without help - more help than it was proper to accept from a young man.

Somehow, they managed it although they were both embarrassed by the time she was finally on the ground. She certainly did not mean to end up sitting on him, but she stumbled and he ended up on his back in the grass.

"You are all right?" she asked anxiously when she struggled to her feet. "I did not hurt you?"

"Not a bit," he said after a moment.

He had a good smile, a surprisingly good smile, but she knew he was lying through his teeth.

Chapter 8

Johnny was pale when he brought the horse back to Cipriano and not quite so comfortable in his saddle. The segundo looked him over, concerned. "Senora Baldemero is a large woman."

"Mmm. She's worried about her basket, the one with the hen in it."

"I have it here." He handed it up to Johnny to hold while he mounted his horse. It was awkward, but not impossible, to ride with the basket balanced in front of him.

"Hate to go back without the cows," Johnny said.

"Your papa will understand. He would expect us to make sure the senora and the ninos get home safely."

"We could do both. And maybe talk to those brothers too," he suggested.

"We should not leave Senora Baldemero waiting in the road."

He accepted that, although it was clear he itched to confront the Newmans. Cipriano would have liked to teach those barbarians a lesson too, but it was not the time.

The wheel was not broken, fortunately. It had lost all the pins that held it on the axle. Cipriano took out his knife and whittled temporary ones from a fallen tree limb. The wood was too soft, but he thought the pins would last long enough to get the buggy back to town if they went slowly.

The pins must have been loose or worn, and the livery owner should not have let the buggy out of the stable in this condition. His carelessness surprised the segundo. If Senora Baldemero drove more rapidly, or if the pins had given out in a bad place, she could have had a serious accident.

They used a lever to raise the buggy and get the wheel back into place, but Cipriano thought the effort was too much for Johnny.

Senora Baldemero seemed to agree with him. She was watching the young man, not so suspiciously as before. When they finished with the wheel, she insisted that they rest for a few minutes and have a drink of water. Johnny looked bemused, but the segundo thought he needed the break.

"One of us should drive," Cipriano said when they harnessed the buggy horse. "You are lighter, and it will be less strain on that wheel. As it is, we will have to stop every mile or so to check on it."

He sighed, but got into the buggy and took the reins without any argument.

Senora Baldemero talked steadily through all the miles of bumpy road, but she did not use up her supply of words. She lit into the livery owner as soon as he came to greet them.

Johnny scratched idly at Fidel's silky ears, half listening. Maria-Luisa and Felipe were both trying to talk to him simultaneously. Cipriano's mouth twitched. The young man seemed to have made an impression on both ninos, but for different reasons. Felipe clearly had adopted Johnny as a new hero. And Maria-Luisa hung on every word he said and every move he made.

Cipriano remembered his daughters at that age, and sent up a prayer of thanks that they were all safely married. He had not thought of it, but Maria-Luisa probably was not the only local damsel who was going to cast a flirtatious eye on one of the Lancer sons. If they stayed on the ranch, every matchmaking mother in the valley would be out in full cry.

Johnny was not encouraging this girl, he saw with approval. He treated her with courtesy, but nothing more. She was a beautiful girl. Most young men would be flattered at the way she was fluttering those long eyelashes at him and would not care that she was not much more than a child. Perhaps his upbringing was not so bad as the patron evidently feared. Or perhaps he was used to admiring looks from pretty senoritas.

The liveryman escaped at last into his stable, still apologizing abjectly, and Senora Baldemero turned toward them with an air of satisfaction. "You will come and eat with us before you return to the ranch."

The segundo declined politely. "Gracias, Senora, but we must be on our way."

"You should eat first," she insisted. "Come. I left a pot of soup on the stove, and there is plenty."

She would not take no for an answer, and Cipriano gave in. It was not such a bad idea anyway to get some food into Johnny before he got back on his horse for the long ride home. Regular meals were another of the doctor's orders.

It was late in the afternoon by the time they rode into the yard at Lancer. Murdoch popped out of the house so quickly that Cipriano knew he must have been watching out the window.

"You were supposed to be back here by noon, Johnny."

Worry always made the patron grouchy, but Cipriano did not think Johnny had any idea of that. He answered before the young man responded in kind and set off another argument between father and son.

"We took Senora Baldemero and her grandchildren into Morro Coyo," he said. "Their buggy broke down on the west road."

"The west road? What were you doing way out there?"

"Some of the cattle strayed from the pasture before the crew could move them this morning. We found all but six before we stopped to help the Baldemeros."

"Oh." Murdoch paused. "Well, I suppose it couldn't be helped."

Cipriano took the palomino's reins out of Johnny's hand. "I will see to your horse."

He started to object, but the patron agreed. "Go into the house, John, and let Teresa and Maria know you're back. They've both been fretting for hours, ever since you didn't turn up for lunch."

"Is he all right?" Murdoch asked the segundo when the door closed.

Cipriano did not think for a moment that the women were the only ones who had been fretting. "I think so, but he is tired."

"Did he do as you told him?"

"He did well," Cipriano said diplomatically. "It was not his fault he was so late."

"Well, no harm done. I'm glad you were able to help Senora Baldemero. Where did she break down?"

"Just south of the Newman ranch."

He froze. "That's not where the cattle strayed?"

Cipriano nodded. "I am afraid so."

"Dammit."

"The fence in the pasture is no good," the segundo said. "We should have replaced it before now."

"I know. We still have so much to do to catch up with things. You didn't have a run-in with the Newmans, did you?"

"No, we did not see them. Senora Baldemero had asked the sons for help before we came along, and they refused."

"Refused?" He was shocked, as Cipriano knew he would be. "A woman alone with two children?"

"The youngest brother even took a shot at young Felipe's dog. Fortunately, he did not hit it. He told them he did not realize it was a dog coming through the woods, but it was careless."

"George should do something about those boys before they get into real trouble."

"Your son was angry when he heard what they said to Senora Baldemero."

"I don't blame him, but I don't want him anywhere near the Newmans, Cip."

The segundo could not agree with him more. "Te entiendo."

Chapter 9

His widowed sister Maria had worked as the housekeeper in the hacienda for many years. She arrived at the segundo's house after supper to sew and gossip with her sister-in-law.

Senor Johnny had not eaten any of the good dinner she had prepared for the family. He had fallen asleep on top of his bed when he went upstairs to wash. He was sleeping soundly when Senor Scott went to get him, so soundly that the patron had decided they should not wake him.

He had not even stirred when they pulled off his boots and spread a quilt over him. She had left food in the oven to keep it warm for him, but did not think el pobre nino would wake during the night to eat it. He was exhausted. Cipriano got reproachful looks from two pairs of eyes.

He explained, and their reproach turned to indignation. He went out to the porch to smoke while they discussed it. By the time he returned, they had moved on from the Newmans to matchmaking. They dismissed Maria-Luisa Baldemero as too young for either of the Lancer sons. Maria was fond of Senorita Teresa, who was like a daughter to her, but she did not seem to think that was a good idea either.

Listening to them, Cipriano was not sure if any of the young women in the valley could possibly meet their exacting standards.

He was tired too. He fell asleep in his favorite chair while Elena and Maria were wondering how long they would have to wait for Lancer grandchildren. It could be a long time, he thought drowsily, if they had anything to say about suitable Lancer brides. Fortunately, they did not. It would be good to see young Lancers growing up here. His eyes drooped.

Johnny did not make an appearance in the yard in the morning. The patron said gruffly that he thought it was better to let him sleep in and to keep him close to the house today. Maria and Elena were not the only mother hens fluttering over the young man. Cipriano's mouth twitched when he imagined the young man's probable reaction to his father's orders.

Still, it seemed to turn out fortunately since Senor Johnny was not there when George Newman and his sons drove six Herefords into the yard.

Senor Scott was. In fact, he was the first to spot the puff of dust. "What's that?"

His father and the segundo, who had been discussing the day's work, peered at the range. Cipriano's eyes were not all they had once been, but the riders soon became visible. They were pushing the cattle much too quickly, he noted with disapproval.

Senor Newman's face was anything but neighborly when he drew up his horse. "Found six of your newfangled steers trampling my rye field, Murdoch. I'm going to have to replant it."

"Sorry," Murdoch said, his voice cold. "I'll reimburse you for the seed."

"And the labor."

"Of course," Murdoch agreed. He did not invite the Newmans to dismount.

Cipriano had already given a quiet order to some of the hands, who turned the cattle into one of the pens. Angel Ruiz closed the gate, and Senor Newman's eye fell on him.

"Is that the gunhawk?" he asked loudly. "He looks healthy enough to travel."

Murdoch's mouth tightened. "That's none of your business, Newman."

"I told you we don't want his kind here with decent folk." The other rancher barged ahead. "You can't blame us, Murdoch. I'd say the same if it was one of my boys who'd gone bad, and so would you."

Senor Scott was listening to them, a baffled expression on his face. His eyes widened suddenly with comprehension.

"I'll deal with my sons as I see fit, just as you deal with yours," Murdoch said. "Send a bill for the damage and I'll pay it."

He turned away, clearly dismissing them, but Senor Newman did not have the sense to go.

"He's no good," he said. "I'm telling you, you better send him on his way now, or you'll regret it."

Scott took a step forward. "You've overstayed your welcome on our land, Mr. Newman."

He was not a rancher, but the elder son did have cojones too.

"Shut up, boy," Newman said. "This isn't anything to do with you."

"Johnny is my brother." Scott's anger was clear. "That makes him my business."

"Scott, I'll handle this." Murdoch broke in.

Newman's eyes were on Angel, still standing by the gate to the corral. "Cat got your tongue, boy?" he said. "Or don't you understand English? It's time for you to vamoose, back to whatever hole you crawled out of."

"I understand English very well, Senor," Angel said. "You have made a mistake."

"Several mistakes," Scott agreed.

"You threatening me, Madrid?"

"Newman!" Murdoch roared. "That's enough. Get out while you still can, and don't come back."

"You haven't heard the last of this," Newman said, but they went.

Senor Scott clenched his fists as he watched them ride through the arch. He turned to look at his father.

"We'll talk about this later," Murdoch said curtly. "There's work to do."

"Sir," Scott began.

"Later. This isn't the time or the place, Scott. Go on and pick up those fence supplies. We'll discuss this tonight."

Senor Scott had been a soldier and he obeyed his father's order. Angel went with him in the big wagon to pick up an order of wire from the store in Morro Coyo. Cipriano headed for the range.

It occurred to him that no one had pointed out to the Newmans that Angel was not Johnny Madrid, but it did not worry him. He did wonder, for a moment, why the Newman sons hadn't recognized Angel from the saloon fight in Green River, but he knew some gringos thought all Mexicans looked alike. Idiots.

Johnny was whitewashing the walls of the guardhouse when Cipriano returned in the afternoon. He clearly lacked enthusiasm for the task.

"I thought your father wanted you to rest today," the segundo said.

Johnny gave him a dark look. "I already rested more than enough."

"Does he know what you are doing?"

"It was his idea. I'd rather be out on the range." He had a streak of the light-colored paint across his face, like an Indian's war paint. "Or anyplace else."

Cipriano smiled. "Don't be in such a hurry," he said in Spanish. "There is plenty of time."

Johnny's eyes shot up, but he looked away without answering. Instead, he dipped the brush in the bucket and slapped more whitewash on the adobe.

Chapter 10

Johnny stopped painting to squint at the range. A wagon was coming down the road. "Scott didn't get much of a job either today, huh?"

Cipriano shaded his eyes to look. "Your brother and Angel went into town to pick up some fence wire."

Senor Scott was not accustomed to driving a team and heavy wagon. He came through the arch cautiously, but didn't scrape it. Johnny watched with a critical eye.

"He drives like an old lady."

"He is doing well, considering that he has never driven a team before." The young man was too hard on his hermano. It was true that Scott did drive, well, slowly. Still, it was only fair to give him credit for trying so many new things at once. "I do not understand why he is alone."

Johnny put down his paintbrush. "Let's go find out."

The patron came across the yard too as the wagon drew up in front of the barn. "Scott, where's Ruiz? If he got into trouble again, I'm not bailing him out."

"That won't be possible, sir," Scott said dryly, setting the brake. "He's dead."

"What happened?" Johnny asked.

Scott stripped off his work gloves slowly. "We went to the store in Morro Coyo. There was a girl there, Maria-Luisa. Ruiz introduced her as his cousin."

"Yeah, the storekeeper is his uncle," Johnny said. "But that don't explain how Angel got dead."

"They were speaking in Spanish and I didn't understand what she said." Scott smoothed out his empty gloves, his head down. "I think it was something about the Newmans. I heard their name. And he was angry about it, whatever it was. Just as we finished loading the wagon, the brothers came out of the saloon. I hadn't realized they were in town too. He went across the street and started to argue with them."

"They didn't get into a gunfight?" Murdoch sounded exasperated.

"They got into a fistfight, sir. And Ruiz did throw the first punch. He was fighting one of the brothers, Tom, I think. He'd knocked him down when Mr. Newman came out of the bank and shot him in the chest. He claimed Ruiz was going for his gun and he shot to defend his son. His other two sons swore the same thing."

"Did anyone else see it?" Murdoch's face looked like stone and his voice was calm, but he'd clenched his big fists.

"I did." Scott looked up. "Ruiz didn't touch his gun. But it's my word against theirs."

"So Newman is gonna get away with it." Johnny didn't sound angry or surprised. It was a flat statement of fact.

"Not if I can help it." Scott's jaw was set. "I spoke to the mayor, who said I could file a complaint with the U.S. marshal for this district. He didn't seem to think it would do any good, and neither did Senor Baldemero, but I can't just let this pass."

"Don't waste your time, Boston," Johnny advised. "It won't make any difference."

Scott looked at his father and the segundo when Johnny spun around and walked away. "Newman thought Ruiz was Johnny. That's why he's dead."

The patron scowled. "How do you know that?"

"Newman said so. He said he wasn't surprised that Johnny Madrid would try to shoot a man while he was down, and he fired before Madrid killed his son."

Murdoch glanced across the yard at Johnny, who had returned to his bucket of whitewash. "I see."

"Is that all you can say? Newman tried to kill my brother, your son. He killed another man in cold blood, thinking that he was your son."

"Did the mayor send a wire to the marshal?"

"Not yet." Scott's shoulders slumped. "He advised me to go home first and talk it over with you, sir. He said he'd send for the marshal if you agreed it was the right thing to do."

"I suppose it is, but I wouldn't expect too much." Murdoch said. "Not if it's just your word against all of the Newmans. It's just going to cause more trouble."

"Heaven forbid that we should cause any trouble for a murderer," Scott said caustically. "Did you understand me, sir? That man, your neighbor, meant to kill your son. He did kill one of your employees in Johnny's place."

"I understand."

"Would you be taking this so calmly if he had succeeded?"

"That's not fair, Scott."

"Not fair?" Scott twisted his gloves and dropped them on the seat. "What did Newman mean this morning when he said he had already told you Johnny didn't belong here and you should send him on his way? He didn't sound like he was speaking just for himself."

"No," Murdoch said. "Some of the other ranchers feel the same way. They're afraid. Your brother, well, he has a reputation."

"Is that why we still haven't signed that partnership agreement?"

"You'll get your share, just as I promised, son. You earned it."

"And Johnny?"

He didn't answer, not right away.

"I see," Scott said icily.

"I'm just trying to do what's best."

"Best for whom? Are you trying to do what's best for your son, or for the ranch?" Scott shook his head. "No, you don't have to answer that. We both know what it is you really care about. You told us, the day we arrived."

He climbed down and took the horses Cipriano had been unhitching. "I'll see to them, Senor Cipriano. Thank you."

"Damn," Murdoch said softly when Scott led the horses away.

Cipriano began to move away too, but the rancher looked up.

"Don't pretend that you don't have an opinion about all this," he said. "What do you think I should do?"

"It is as you said. It will do no good to send for the marshal and may make things worse."

"That's not what I meant. Johnny could have been killed if I'd sent him into town with Scott this morning."

"It might not be so easy to kill Senor Johnny," Cipriano said. "Angel was foolish to pick a fight with the Newmans in the street."

"Yes, but he didn't deserve to die for it. What am I going to say to the Baldemeros?"

"They will know who is really to blame."

Murdoch rubbed at his temples, as if he had a headache. "I don't know if it's safe for Johnny to be here, Cipriano. He isn't the only one who could get hurt, and this just goes to show it."

"You are not sorry you sent for him?"

"If I hadn't, he'd already be dead. You know where the Pinkerton agent found him."

Cipriano knew. He also knew that the patron had not answered the question, not entirely.

He looked across the yard toward the guardhouse, and his misgivings grew. Johnny was gone.

He heard hoofbeats and saw a golden horse soar over one of the fences.

Chapter 11

The patron still had a bad leg. He could ride again, at last, but not well enough to catch up with his son.

Cipriano and Scott went, but they did not catch up with Johnny either.

The segundo was relieved when the tracks did not head west toward the Newman ranch, or south to Morro Coyo - or Mexico. When he cleared the fields near the hacienda, Johnny had galloped east across open range.

He had grown up on the border. Injustice would not be anything new to him. It would not take him by surprise, as it apparently did Senor Scott, to hear that witnesses would lie or that a landowner would most likely get away with murder, whether it was an Anglo or Mexicano landowner. He should be used to it, particularly given his profession. Even if it made him furious, he should have the sense by now to hide it and not do anything stupid.

Cipriano paused on the thought. Perhaps he was wrong about that. Johnny had ended up in front of a firing squad in Mexico by taking on a hopeless fight against a haciendero. And then he had nearly gotten himself killed in the battle for Lancer. He had more cojones than brains.

Still, he did not appear to be galloping into trouble now, even if he was riding at a dangerous pace. Cipriano considered the trail, thinking about it, and shook his head. "We should go back."

"Not until we find Johnny," Scott insisted.

Cipriano wondered if the easterner would understand. "He is riding it out. And he is too far ahead."

"Riding it out," Scott repeated, an odd look on his face. He looked at the long, springy grass. Johnny's flight had left a straight line across it, but it was already fading.

The segundo waited patiently. Whatever else he was, Senor Scott was not foolish. He would see there was no sense in chasing his brother.

He did. He did not like it, but he finally nodded and wheeled his horse around.

They rode nearly all the way back to the yard in silence. Scott pulled up before they reached the arch.

"Cipriano, do you think he'll come back?"

"Yes," the segundo said.

"And will he stay?"

He still did not know how to answer that question.

"I suppose that's not fair," Scott said. "You haven't known him any longer than I have."

Something must have shown in his face. Scott's sandy brows rose.

"You knew him when he was a child, before his mother left. I hadn't realized."

"Yes," Cipriano admitted. "But he was very young."

"He still is, if you ask me," Scott muttered.

Cipriano smiled. It was true in some ways, but not in others. In others, Johnny was old beyond his years, older than his brother.

"Did you know my mother too?" Scott asked.

"Yes," he admitted. The first Senora Lancer was not so sensitive a subject as Johnny's mother, but it still seemed to him that the patron should be the one to talk to their son about her.

Scott dipped his head and touched his horse with his spurs. He did not ask any more questions. He seemed preoccupied all the time while they groomed their horses.

Taking care of his own horse was something else that was clearly new to the elder son, but he had not objected to the rule. In fact, he seemed to enjoy it once he learned how to use the brushes and currycomb.

It was not surprising that he was not accustomed to grooming his horse, even if he was a good rider. He had grown up in a city as a rich man's grandson. In the cavalry, he was an officer and others took care of the horses.

Even here, every successful rancher did not insist that his sons take care of their mounts personally. But it was a good rule and Senor Scott quickly grasped the reasons for it and accepted it. He might make a good rancher eventually, even if he did not have his brother's understanding of the land. Together, the two of them would be formidable - if they ever got to know each other.

Johnny still had not returned to the hacienda by suppertime. In the segundo's house, Elena put their meal on the table with more force than usual. Senor Scott might have seen the sense in returning, but Elena was not happy about it.

He had told her about Angel. That also made her angry. The young vaquero had not made a good impression on her, not at all, but that did not matter now.

"I should have made sure Senor Newman knew he was not Madrid," Cipriano said gloomily.

Elena said a word usually reserved for men's use, and not in mixed company. He certainly had never heard her say it before. She pointed her fork at him while his jaw was still on the floor, jabbing it to emphasize her words. "And were you to know that cabron had murder in his evil mind? Men! This was not your fault, and it certainly was not Juanito's."

"He does not even know that it had anything to do with Madrid."

"What? No one told him this?"

"He'll hear about it." Cipriano devoutly wished it was possible to keep that from him, but did not think it likely. Angel had not been the only vaquero in the yard this morning. And the shooting must be the talk of the town.

She looked at him across the table. "Men," she said again. "Did you or the patron ever think for a moment that he would not?"

"No," Cipriano said. "I suppose not."

"If Senor Lancer does not tell him everything, you should."

"I cannot do that," he protested.

"You will." The fork stabbed the air again. "What happened today was not your fault. But now you do know, both of you, that Senor Newman would shoot Juanito dead in the street if he gets the chance. He needs to know that too."

He combed his moustache with his hand. She was right. She usually was.

That did not make him feel better.

Chapter 12

It was Easter week. The priest could not say a funeral Mass for Angel on Holy Thursday. The church did not allow it. Instead, he said the liturgy in their home after the vigil, before they buried the young man in the cemetery at the edge of town.

Senora Baldemero did not expect many people outside the family to attend, but most of the Mexican community and some of the Anglos appeared for the burial.

Senor Lancer came. She thought perhaps the ranch segundo would come, since Angel had worked there, but she did not expect to see Senor Lancer and both of his sons standing in the mist. It was not raining, but thick ground fog had settled on the valley during the night and the sun had not burned it off.

Senor Scott wore a fine suit, not the ranch clothes he had purchased in the store. His father had put on a tie. Johnny was dressed vaquero style in calzoneros, a short jacket and white shirt. So was Angel, inside the plain pine box.

Maria-Luisa wore black mourning, but she would be bewitchingly pretty even if she wore a flour sack. She fastened her eyes on both Lancer sons as soon as they arrived.

The girl's tears had fallen like rain for her handsome cousin, but it was a cloudburst, not a lingering shower. Her fifteen-year-old heart was untouched. Senora Baldemero intended to keep it that way. Next week, after Easter, she would not return to the local school with Felipe. Instead, her parents would travel to Santa Clara to place her in a convent school. The nuns would keep her busy for a few years, and then the family would see about arranging a suitable marriage.

Senora Baldemero studied Senor Johnny speculatively. If he had grown up here on his father's ranch ... but, no. She put the thought away and listened to the priest. This was not the time to be thinking of that. Besides, Johnny was only the second son, and he was a pistolero.

She knew Senor Newman had meant to kill Madrid. Everyone knew that.

Everyone also knew it did not matter that Senor Scott swore that Angel had not touched his gun. It would be his word against all the Newmans, and he had never seen a gunfight. They could easily argue that he did not know enough about it to be so sure. The alcalde had talked it over with Alfredo, and they agreed a trial would be useless. The jury would give Newman the benefit of the doubt.

She did not blame Senor Johnny or any of the Lancers for Angel's death. If it came to that, Maria-Luisa was just as much to blame. If she had tended to her business instead of telling her cousin how the Newmans had treated them, then he would not have charged across the street to pick a fight - and show off in front of his pretty cousin.

Angel had swaggered into more trouble than he could handle, not for the first time. But she could not say this time that he should have known better. The real culprit was Senor Newman.

She glanced at Felipe. He was a problem, more so than his sister. He stood with his parents and grandparents, dressed in his best Sunday clothes, but his expression was anything but reverent. Felipe's anger burned in him. He was not old enough to be practical about it. He only saw the injustice. And he wanted someone to shoot Senor Newman dead, just as the rancher had shot Angel.

They lowered the coffin into the muddy earth and the family stepped forward to throw fistfuls of dirt on the bright wood. It was over, all except the condolences.

The Baldemeros were the chief mourners. Angel's mother did not even know yet about her son's death. Alfredo had sent a letter, but it would not arrive for days. The burial could not wait for her to travel to California from Mexico, and it was too far to even think of sending the body home.

Alfredo was speaking to Senor Lancer when Senora Baldemero caught movement out of the corner of her eye. Felipe had pulled Senor Johnny aside and was speaking to him. The boy's face was intent, too intent. Johnny said something to him, and Felipe shook his head and spoke again.

She moved closer, concerned. She did not think Felipe was angry with Senor Johnny, but she did not know and did not want her grandson to offend a pistolero.

The words were tumbling out of Felipe's mouth. "I want to hire you," he insisted. "I promise I will pay you more as soon as I can. I am good for it, I swear it."

Senora Baldemero was speechless.

Senor Lancer was not. He had heard Felipe too. He glared at his son, who had not answered the boy. "No," he said loudly. "Absolutely not."

Johnny glanced at his father before his eyes went back to the boy. "Felipe and me are talking."

"He's a child," the rancher said. "You have no business talking to him, not about this."

Johnny was still calm, his voice so soft that Senora Baldemero could barely hear him. "I'll decide my business, old man."

"I'm your father, young man. For god's sake, it's not decent to talk about this here. Didn't your mother teach you anything about how to behave?"

Senora Baldemero's mouth dropped and her hand flew to her heart at the look that crossed the young man's face. He didn't answer right away.

"She did the best she could," he finally said, his eyes on his father. "Mostly she was busy just trying to make enough to feed the two of us."

The rancher flushed. "I shouldn't have said that."

"Nope," Johnny agreed, his voice still quiet. He reached out and turned Felipe around. "Let's you and me go talk, kid. Never a good idea to talk business in public."

Senora Baldemero watched them walk toward the live oaks at the edge of the cemetery. She didn't know if she should snatch her grandson away or let him talk to the pistolero. From everything she had heard, Johnny Madrid was a dangerous man.

Still, he had been good with Felipe that day in the doctor's office, and again when their buggy broke down. He had not encouraged the boy to make him into a hero, and he had been more patient than many young men would be. Perhaps he could make her grandson see sense.

Besides, she knew Felipe had only a few dollars saved from his share of the egg money. He did not have anywhere near enough money to hire Johnny Madrid.

Chapter 13

The patron was in a foul mood. Senor Scott was not happy either. And Johnny was nowhere in sight.

Cipriano had already helped Elena and Teresa into the surrey. Scott climbed into the front seat. The patron had insisted on riding into town on his horse, like his second son. His elder son was not dressed for riding.

Murdoch mounted and looked at the segundo. "Let's go."

It was clearly an order. Cipriano did not question it, but his brain was busy as he drove out of Morro Coyo. Where was Senor Johnny?

He had seen some kind of exchange between father and son in the cemetery, but had been too far away to hear any of it. Johnny had walked away with Senora Baldemero's grandson and talked to the boy for a little while. When Cipriano looked up again, they were both gone, but he saw nothing to worry about. Felipe had chattered eagerly to Johnny on Monday, and he supposed the boy was picking up where he left off.

Now, though, he wondered. He was still wondering when he went around a long curve in the road and saw blurred gold. Johnny had abandoned the road and was cutting straight across the range. He crouched low over the horse's neck, and they were flying as if something chased them. The palomino's hooves seemed to barely touch the ground.

The patron was watching too. His face was sour.

The palomino was already in the barn when they reached the ranch, and Cipriano didn't see Johnny. He didn't learn about what was going on until the next day, after he drove the women to town again for the long afternoon service that marked Good Friday.

Cipriano was surprised when Johnny went with them. From the satisfied looks on his wife and sister's faces, he suspected that it had more to do with pacifying the two women than it did with anything else.

Of course, that was also true in his case. Cipriano had faith that God was not quite so insistent on ceremony as the priests and the women.

He did not remember Maria Lancer as a particularly devout woman. She certainly did not take her marriage vows seriously. Johnny was Catholic, but Cipriano doubted mother and son had ever spent much time in church after their departure from Lancer. The patron had not either.

Johnny did know enough, at least, to go through the motions of following the service as the priest droned on. He paid no apparent attention to the stares and whispers. A large part of the congregation divided its attention between the ritual and the pistolero. Cipriano was glad when the long, gloomy service finally ended and they could escape from the dark, airless church, draped with black.

He had fetched the surrey from the livery and was waiting for the women to finish talking when a hand tugged on his coat. Felipe Baldemero looked up at him uncertainly.

"Perdon, Senor. Senor Johnny has not already left, has he?"

"I don't think so," he said. "He will be along soon."

Felipe's face cleared. "That is good. I need to speak to him."

"It is getting late, and we need to return to the ranch," Cipriano said gently. "Another time, perhaps, would be better."

"Es muy importante."

The segundo was curious. "What can be so important, nino?"

The boy bit his lip, hesitating. "It is a matter of business, Senor."

Business? Cipriano did not understand what business Felipe could have with Johnny. "This is not the time to conduct business, Felipe. Where is your family?"

He glanced over his shoulder guiltily. "My grandparents are still here, I think. I ran home to get Fidel, but I can't stay long."

Spurs jingled and Johnny led his palomino up. Felipe watched him intently, his face tense. "Hola, Senor Johnny."

"Hey, kid." Johnny gave him a slightly wary look. "Something wrong?"

"No," Felipe said. "No, nothing is wrong. I thought about what you told me yesterday. And I will do it."

"Do what?" Johnny seemed to be as puzzled as the segundo.

"You said it's easy to kill a man, but the price is high."

"More than two dollars and seventeen cents," Johnny agreed gravely. The segundo nearly choked.

"I understand, Senor Johnny," the child assured him. "But I'm willing to pay the price you said."

Cipriano was aghast. His first impulse was to explode, as he was sure the patron had done. He restrained himself, and took a closer look at Johnny. The young man seemed to be as taken aback as he was.

"Felipe." Johnny's voice was soft. "I told you it would cost you a piece of your soul to kill a man."

"Si," Felipe said. "Here it is." He thrust one end of a rope toward Johnny. His dog panted gently on the other end, its tongue lolling out of its mouth.

"What?"

"Fidel is a good dog, Senor." Felipe's voice quavered a little. "He will not be any trouble at all. Well, not very much. He is a smart dog. He knows many tricks and will be a good friend to you. You will have to keep him on the rope at first, because he will not understand, but I am sure he will like it on your rancho."

"I can't take your dog," Johnny protested.

"It is not enough? I tried, but I couldn't think of anything else. I wouldn't mind giving away my sister, but that would not count, would it?"

Cipriano's mouth twitched, despite the gravity of the situation. Johnny looked harassed.

"That's not what I meant."

"But it is what you said," Felipe insisted. "Please, Senor Johnny. If you want, I'll give you all my money too. I have it with me."

"No," Johnny said, before the boy could empty his pockets. "Felipe, you didn't understand."

Someone shouted and the boy's head went up. "I have to go." He gave the dog a fierce hug, not looking at either Johnny or the segundo. "Go with Senor Johnny, Fidel, and be a good dog. Adios."

The dog barked when the boy ran down the street without looking back. Then it whined. Johnny was still holding the rope.

Chapter 14

"What are you going to do?" Cipriano asked later. They were alone in the barn at Lancer, taking care of the horses.

Johnny was brushing the palomino. Fidel had been restless at first, but now lay on a pile of straw. The dog looked nearly as miserable as its former owner had.

"I'm not planning to keep the kid's dog, if that's what you're asking."

"It is not. Are you going after Senor Newman?"

Johnny sighed. "Sure sounds like the man needs killing."

"Perhaps. But it is not Felipe's business."

"Might be mine from what I hear."

Cipriano saw no use in trying to argue that point. But it was not the only issue, or even necessarily the most dangerous. "You did not tell your father you refused to work for that nino yesterday."

He shook his head.

"Why not?" Cipriano was frustrated. "Do you want him to think badly of you?"

"It's his business what he wants to think. I don't care."

He did not think that was true. He also did not think it would be wise to say so, even if he could not see Johnny's face.

"You could have just let the dog loose. It would have followed the boy home. If you let it loose now, it would probably find its way home."

"Yeah, I know." Johnny glanced at the dog. "But I should talk to Felipe about it first. It don't seem right to treat him like a little kid, not when he's trying to take care of grownup business. At least right now he's not thinking of doing this himself."

Johnny was probably speaking from experience. "I suppose not," Cipriano conceded. "I was surprised that he would go so far as to give up his dog. I did not know he was so close to Angel."

"Don't think he was, not really. But Angel was still family, and he's mad. He doesn't think it's fair."

"Life is not."

"No." Johnny applied himself again to brushing the palomino's already clean, sleek coat.

Life had not been particularly fair to this young man. It still was not. Cipriano could not think of anything more likely to make the patron question whether he should have called his second son home, or if Johnny should stay.

Yet, none of this was Johnny's fault. He had not done anything to provoke Senor Newman. So far as Cipriano knew, they had never even seen each other. Johnny had nothing to do with Angel's death and had not encouraged Felipe to try to hire him. From the sounds of it, he had given the boy good advice yesterday, or tried to do so anyway.

It was bad luck that Felipe had found another way to interpret Johnny's words, and that the boy was so determined that he literally did sacrifice what he believed to be part of his soul.

"There is an empty box at the far end," Cipriano said. "You can put the dog there for the night."

"That's OK," Johnny said, not turning around. "I'll keep him with me. Don't want anything to happen to him, or Felipe might be hiring someone to shoot me."

"You are going to take that animal inside the house?"

"Sure, why not?"

Cipriano looked at the dog dubiously. It was a large, gangly dog, and not a particularly handsome one. The ranch did have a few dogs, but they were working dogs, not pets, and had never set foot inside the hacienda so far as he knew. They had objected loudly to the stranger's arrival, and Fidel had responded in kind. Johnny and a hand had jumped in to stop the dogfight and shut the ranch dogs in a shed.

The patron had only admitted one dog to the house, many years ago. And that had not been his choice, not exactly. Originally, it was not his dog.

The segundo did not say anything about it to Johnny, who would not remember. "I should go," he said. "Elena will be waiting."

"Night."

"Good night." He hesitated, but went out. He did not know what advice to offer, even if the young man would listen.

Elena served lentil soup, since they were still fasting. She did not observe the restrictions strictly through all the forty days of Lent, since he could not do his work and earn his pay on the scanty, meatless diet, but they did fast during Holy Week. Elena was a devout woman, but also a practical one.

"What's wrong?" she demanded when she sat across from him at their kitchen table.

"Nothing. I was just thinking."

She gave him a look that made it clear that she did not believe him. "Is Senor Johnny still in the barn?"

"He was, si."

"Esperanza Baldemero told me that her grandson tried yesterday to hire him."

"She knew?"

"She heard them talking in the cemetery after the burial. So did the patron."

"He said no." Cipriano took a spoonful of soup. It was a small portion, more of a light snack than a full meal. At least Lent would soon be over. Sunday, they would feast.

"Esperanza knows that," Elena said. "Felipe only has two dollars, and it would not be enough to hire any pistolero. But why did the boy give his dog to Johnny tonight?"

Cipriano finished his meager supper, to his regret. "It is a misunderstanding."

"Juanito intends to correct this misunderstanding?"

"As soon as possible."

"I hope so. Maria tells me the patron tried to talk to him about it last night, and he refused. She is worried."

"I am too," he confessed.

"They don't know what they want, either of them." Elena stood to clear the table.

"No," he agreed.

"No matter what he has done, he is not lost yet." Her voice was fierce. "He still has a good heart."

"I think so too."

"He cannot go back to that life. It will kill him, one way or another."

It nearly had, but only a few people knew just how close it had been, with no more than a minute to spare. Cipriano wasn't sure if even Senor Scott knew his brother had actually been standing in front of a firing squad, and was certain that Teresa did not. So far as he knew, the patron hadn't told anyone but him and the doctor, and Johnny hadn't told anyone at all.

"The patron is worried that someone else will get hurt, like Angel," he said.

"And he is willing to lose his son again?"

"He does not know what is best, Elena. It is his decision to make, not ours."

She gestured impatiently. "It is not a decision to make with his head, like adding up a column of numbers in his ledgers. It is a question of what is in his heart and Juanito's heart. That is what is important."

Cipriano wished he could go outside and smoke, but that was out of the question during Easter week, not if he wished to have any peace in his house. "It is not that simple. The patron has responsibilities."

"He has a responsibility to his son."

"He has two sons, Elena. He is thinking of both of them, and Senorita Teresa. He is responsible for her too."

"Hmmph," she said scornfully, and picked up her sewing.

How was a man supposed to answer that?

Chapter 15

Cipriano was in the yard early the next morning, even earlier than usual. He was talking to one of the men about a lame horse when he heard a woman shriek inside the main house. An outraged bellow that could only be the patron followed the shriek. Fidel shot past the segundo in a toffee-colored blur and settled down under the large oak by the barn.

He held the patron's favorite Stetson hat in his jaws. And he was chewing on it.

Senor Scott was trying to suppress a smile, not very successfully, when he emerged from the house a few moments later. His father was not smiling, far from it. The patron strode outside belligerently and brandished his cane at the dog.

"Drop it!" he ordered.

Fidel apparently thought this was some sort of game. He got up again, the hat dangling from his teeth. His tail waved enthusiastically.

Johnny had come out through the courtyard. He made a diving grab for the hat as Fidel bounded toward him. He missed.

"Whoa!" Murdoch bellowed, although a horse wouldn't have paid any more attention to the command than the dog did. Fidel did drop the hat to bark at him, but snatched it and pranced away when he waved his cane again.

Johnny got to his feet and brushed off some of the dust on his clothes. He was not mad. He was trying not to laugh and not succeeding any better than his brother.

"If you stop waving that damn stick, I might be able to get him to come," he suggested to his father. "He thinks you want to play with him."

"Well, he couldn't be more wrong," the rancher responded. He glared at his younger son suspiciously. "John, do you know anything about this animal? You didn't actually let it into the house this morning?"

"Nope," Johnny said. Strictly speaking, it was true, if a little misleading. Cipriano thought that might be best in this case. Unfortunately, Johnny did not leave it there. "I brought him into the house last night."

Scott snorted and ducked his head hastily. Murdoch glared at him too. "This is not funny!"

"It's just a dog, Murdoch. Haven't you ever had a dog?" Johnny looked at Fidel and held his hand out. "Hey, Fidel. It's OK. C'mon, come here, boy."

The dog seemed to be considering it. It was unfortunate that someone, unaware of why the ranch dogs were in the shed, chose that moment to open the door and let them loose.

The hat was not the only casualty in the fight, but it was the only fatality. The patron stared at the remains, his jaw tightly clenched, before he turned around and limped back to the house. The front door slammed behind him.

Senor Scott ended up holding Fidel's rope, since his brother was bleeding. The dog was not hurt. They had dragged the two ranch dogs into the barn and they were still making a racket.

The commotion had drawn Maria outside. She tugged on Johnny's good arm, urging him to come inside and let her clean and bandage the gash on his left arm. That sleeve hung in tatters.

"It's nothing," he protested. She directed a scathing volley of Spanish at him, and he sighed. "Scott, will you look out for Fidel for a few minutes?"

"Fidel?" Scott cast a dubious look at the dog.

"That's his name. And he's already had breakfast, so don't let him tell you otherwise," Johnny said as Maria prodded him toward the courtyard, still scolding.

"I doubt if Murdoch's hat was particularly nutritious, brother."

Johnny grinned, unabashed. "That was dessert, Boston."

Scott turned and looked at Cipriano after Maria swept Johnny through the courtyard toward the kitchen door. "Do you happen to know anything about my brother's new dog, Senor Cipriano?"

"I do not think he intends to keep the dog, Senor," the segundo said cautiously. "It belongs to a boy in town."

"Oh? And Johnny just decided to invite the dog to spend the weekend here?"

"Not exactly, no. The boy gave him to Senor Johnny last night, after church."

"Indeed. I don't believe I've ever heard of that custom."

"It is not the custom." Cipriano had only had one cup of coffee and a small piece of bread for breakfast, instead of the usual hearty meal served during all the other weeks of the year. He didn't miss his eggs and chorizo so much as his second and third cups of strong black coffee. He did not feel fully equipped to divert Senor Scott's questions.

"I see. Just why did the boy give his dog to my brother?"

He considered it for a moment. Perhaps it would be a good thing if Senor Scott knew what was going on. It was hardly a secret, not if Esperanza Baldemero knew any part of it. By now, she would have noticed that the dog was missing.

"This wouldn't by any chance be the same boy who tried to hire Johnny, would it?" Scott asked, his eyes on the segundo.

"Si," he admitted.

"I don't know much about gunfighters, just what I've read in dime novels," Scott said slowly. "I don't recall reading anything that suggests that the typical gunfighter would be willing to accept a badly-behaved mongrel in payment for his services."

"No, Senor." Cipriano made up his mind. "Your brother does not want to work for the nino at any price. But he also does not want Felipe to do something even more foolish. He needs to talk to the boy again, and there was no time for that last night."

"I see." Scott looked thoughtful. Before he could ask another question, though, Fidel bounded to the end of his rope, barking. Scott held on as the dog dragged him toward the arch. Inside the barn, another chorus of barks sounded.

"It appears we're about to have visitors," Scott said, grabbing Fidel's collar. The segundo thought he was wise not to trust the rope. "That's not the Newmans again?"

Cipriano stared at the riders and reached for Fidel. "Yes, it is," he said. "I will take the dog. Perhaps it would be best if you go and tell your father, Senor."

"Perhaps." Scott didn't sound convinced, but he went.

Chapter 16

"Murdoch," Senor Newman said when the patron came outside with Scott. "Figured you and me better clear the air and get a few things straight."

"We have nothing to talk about, Newman," Murdoch said.

"We're neighbors," the other rancher said. "I reckon we ought to be able to get along."

"You reckon wrong."

The Newmans were still sitting on their horses. They were not wearing their six-shooters, although they did have rifles in their scabbards. Cipriano had noticed that right away, and his lip curled scornfully. Senor Newman apparently did not want to take a chance that anyone would do to him what he had done to Angel.

The vaqueros had just finished breakfast in the cookhouse and were gathering in the yard for their work assignments as the Newmans rode in. Cipriano thrust Fidel at one of the men and told him to put the animal in a box in the barn, separate from the other dogs.

The others, grim-faced, watched the visitors. Angel had been one of them, if only for a short time, and they all knew what had happened to him.

It only needed a spark to start a fire. Cipriano sighed when Johnny stepped out of the house. He had exchanged his ruined white shirt for one the sun had faded to a shade of pink that did not seem to embarrass the young man in the least. Johnny settled his hat on his head, tipping the brim down over his eyes, and strolled forward casually.

"Trouble?" he said to the patron, too quietly for the Newmans to hear.

"I'll handle this, John."

"Don't seem quite fair, Old Man. You said you were offering us a share of everything we could see. Don't know all that much about ranching, but I do know trouble when I see it."

"I also said I'd call the tune. Stay out of this."

He smiled, but this smile didn't even begin to reach his eyes. "I told you I wasn't too good at taking orders."

Tom Newman's horse moved restively and he yanked on the reins. Johnny's voice was still soft, but this time it carried enough to be audible across the yard.

"Mister, you're going to ruin that horse if you keep sawing on his mouth like that."

Tom's face flamed. "I don't need riding lessons from the likes of you," he spat.

"Just trying to help you out," Johnny said. His drawl was slower, not faster. "Wouldn't want you to make a mistake."

"You're the mistake, Madrid!"

Cipriano nearly stopped breathing. The Lancer vaqueros growled audibly, but Johnny held up one hand. "See what I mean," he said, still smiling. "You wouldn't want to get down off that poor horse and say that again?"

Tom looked as if he might soil himself at the idea. His father spoke up quickly. "My son's not wearing a gun. None of us are."

"That's OK." Johnny's smile grew while he let a moment pass, just the space of a heartbeat. "Somebody will be happy to lend him one."

"No!" Newman said. "Murdoch, make him stop. Tom doesn't have a chance against that gunfighter."

"Did you give Angel Ruiz any chance, Newman?"

"That's different."

"How?" Scott asked. "You gunned Angel down in the street like a dog."

"You're mistaken, boy," Newman said.

"I'm not mistaken, Mr. Newman." Scott's voice was cold, his anger obvious. "And I intend to tell the marshal that when he arrives."

"Murdoch, that's one of the things I wanted to talk to you about." The other rancher ignored the two brothers and addressed their father. "Nobody but that boy of yours wants to bring the marshal in. Now I know he doesn't have much experience out here, and I was hoping you could make him see sense."

The patron shook his head. "Scott and I have discussed this, and I agree with him."

"It's a waste of everybody's time," Senor Newman objected.

"Maybe it is, but it's still the right thing to do."

Newman dropped any pretence that this was just a friendly visit between neighbors and returned to his usual bluster. "You'll be sorry about this, Lancer," he warned.

"I told you not to come back the other day, and I meant it. You're trespassing."

The other rancher scowled, but bit back whatever it was that he intended to say when Johnny took a step forward.

Johnny looked up, still relaxed. It was somehow more intimidating than Scott's anger. "Happy to lend you a gun too, Newman, if you have the balls for it."

Newman did not.

Except for the barking inside the barn, the yard was silent when they rode out. The patron spoke to Cipriano, who sent the men about their business.

Murdoch ignored his sons until everyone except the segundo was gone. Cipriano supposed he was going to assign one or both of them to ride with him again.

He was wrong.

"John, is that the Baldemero boy's dog that's making that ungodly noise?" the patron asked.

"What if it is?"

"Take it back," Murdoch ordered.

"That dog is my business, not yours."

"That's some business, John. What kind of man would hire his gun to a child? And to take his dog ..." He stopped and shook his head.

"Guess you've decided what you think of me, huh?"

"What else am I supposed to think?" The patron's voice was bitter. "Are you telling me that you didn't just challenge Newman to a gunfight, just like that boy asked you to do?"

"I wasn't telling you anything."

"Don't walk away from me, John. Where are you going?"

"To get my stuff," Johnny said.

"Wait a minute," Scott protested. "Johnny, no. Tell him the truth."

"Why bother? He's already made up his mind. And we both know he couldn't possibly be wrong, not Murdoch Lancer." Johnny pushed past him and headed for the house.

"Johnny!" Scott swung around on his father. "Do you want him to leave?"

"It's not a question of what I want."

"No?"

"Scott, I offered him something else. He's obviously not interested. He's just like his mother." Murdoch broke off. "You can't tell me that you approve of what he's doing."

"I can't say that I know exactly what he's doing, sir," Scott said. "Maybe we'd know if you had bothered to ask him, instead of deciding you already knew."

Chapter 17

Johnny took Fidel with him when he left. He took the palomino too. He told Cipriano the old man still owed him some gun money, and the horse would do.

"Where will you go?" the segundo asked. "You cannot return to Mexico."

He shrugged. "Doesn't matter."

The patron had disappeared into the house and did not come out, but Cipriano knew he was watching from the big window as the palomino trotted away.

Scott had tried to reason with his brother. He didn't have any more success than he did with his father.

Scott also took his horse and rode toward town shortly after Johnny left. He had not packed up his belongings, not yet, but he had more belongings than he could carry in his saddlebags.

The day stretched out. For once, Cipriano was not sorry he had to drive the women into Morro Coyo for the Easter Vigil service in the evening.

He did not even mind that they complained all the way about the patron's behavior. He did not say so, but he agreed with them.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he found the palomino in the livery stable. Johnny had not left town yet. He also found a sorrel gelding. Scott was here too.

Morro Coyo did not have a hotel. Cipriano considered the possibilities carefully and headed for the cantina. Elena had not said so, not exactly, but she had tacitly excused him from attending church.

The cantina had shut down for the service, but Cipriano went through the unlocked door. The big room was empty, as were the kitchen and back rooms. Upstairs, he didn't find what he was looking for, but he did find a familiar jacket and a pair of worn saddlebags on the bed in one of the rooms the proprietor rented.

The store had locked its doors, but he did not expect to find any of the Baldemeros there. They would be in church.

He hoped to hear a dog bark inside the store or the outbuildings, but did not.

The saloon was open. It was Saturday night, and most cowboys were religious about that ritual. Tinny piano music and raucous voices spilled out of the batwing doors into the street.

He did not think Johnny or Scott would be in the mood for the noisy saloon, but did look inside. The Newman brothers were there. He did not see the Lancer brothers.

Where could they be? Not in church, certainly, especially not if Johnny still had Fidel with him. The barbershop and bathhouse were dark. He had already checked the livery.

His eye fell on the doctor's house. A light showed in the back. Dr. Jenkins was one of the few people in town the brothers knew - too well, as far as Johnny was concerned.

He could hear a dog barking somewhere when Sam came to the door. So far as he knew, the doctor did not own a dog.

"Perdon," Cipriano said. "I was looking for Senors Scott and Johnny."

"Scott's here, at least," the doctor said. "Come on in."

"I do not wish to disturb you."

"You're not, believe me. The only thing that's disturbing me is that blasted boy. He's as pigheaded as his father."

Scott and the doctor had just finished a late supper from the looks of it. Fidel was in the back yard, tethered to the porch.

"Did my father send you?" Scott asked. "Is he in town too?"

"No," the segundo said. The young man's face fell.

"Damn old fool," the doctor said, getting another coffee cup and pouring some for Cipriano. The segundo did not refuse. He sat in the chair the doctor indicated and took a grateful sip.

"Where is Senor Johnny?"

"Upstairs in the saloon with a girl and a bottle of tequila," Scott said. "He knew I wouldn't follow him there."

Cipriano almost smiled. Yes, that was one place where Senor Johnny could count on being alone - well, no, not alone, but free from his brother.

Another thought wiped the smile away. "He has been there for a long time?"

"All afternoon," Scott said, giving him a curious look. "She is pretty, and he's a young man ..."

"No, no, that is not what I was thinking. It is none of my business what Senor Johnny does with a senorita." Cipriano put his coffee cup down on the table. "It is just that the Newman brothers are in the saloon. If he comes down, there could be trouble."

"There will be trouble," Scott said. "Damn it. Dr. Jenkins, would you mind keeping the dog here while I go and talk to my brother?"

"I will come with you." Cipriano got to his feet.

Scott headed directly for the stairs when they entered the saloon, pushing his way through the crowded room. They were halfway up when a drunken voice called out.

"Hey, Lancer! Lancer! You forgot something, didn't you?"

Scott paused and looked over the railing into the smoky room. Tom Newman staggered away from the bar as the room went quiet. "What would that be, Mr. Newman?"

"A girl," Tom said. "You forgot to pick out a girl. Less you and that big Mex are going to do the dirty, maybe? I hear you dress as fancy as a girl, Lancer. Maybe you do other things like a girl, huh?"

Scott flushed as all three brothers burst into laughter. The piano stopped abruptly, and the player spun around on his stool to watch. "You're drunk," Scott snapped.

"Damn right I am. This is a saloon, ain't it? Don't you drink in Boston? Or are you too busy getting something rammed up your ass, pretty boy?"

His voice was loud and the whole room was listening. Cipriano raised one hand as Scott turned around and started down the stairs, but he had a feeling it was hopeless. He still tried. "Senor," he said. "This is not wise."

Chapter 18

It had been many years since Cipriano was involved in a saloon brawl. Elena would not be pleased when she heard about it. She would blister his ears off, but she would not like the alternative either. No matter what he did, he was in trouble.

Senor Scott did not do so badly, not at first. He landed a good strong right on Tom Newman's chin, knocking him backward into a table that collapsed under his weight.

If the fight had stayed between them, one on one, Cipriano would not have stepped in. That would be a fair fight, even if Scott was a lightweight compared to any one of the burly Newman brothers.

But as soon as the first brother went down, the middle brother charged Scott. Then Tom bounced up again and started pounding on the young man while his brother Rich held Scott's arms. That was not right. Senor Scott could not possibly fight the two of them. He had no chance.

Cipriano and Scott were not doing so well at fighting three of them. Cipriano was a large man and Scott fought valiantly, but it was not enough. Tom swung a chair at Scott, who dropped like a stone. That left Cipriano, chest heaving, to face all three Newman brothers. Si, Elena would tell him at length that he was an old fool. Perhaps it was true.

The cowboys in the saloon watched and even laid a few bets, but stayed out of it. The Lancer hands must have gone to Green River tonight. He had no time to wonder why the Newmans were alone, just enough to be thankful for it.

He heard a heavy step behind him, crunching the broken glass on the floor, even as Rich Newman's big fist jabbed his nose. The next thing he knew, someone else had joined the fight.

It was the patron.

Murdoch also had not been in a brawl for years, so far as Cipriano knew. No matter. They were getting older, but they had plenty of muscle still. They also knew how to use their brains in a fight instead of relying entirely on brawn. The Newmans had iron fists and no sense. It helped when Scott found his feet and lurched back into the battle. The segundo began to enjoy himself, as he had in the old days.

Finally, the Newmans went down and did not get up again. Cipriano felt his swollen nose gingerly. He did not think it was broken.

"Not so bad for a couple of old men and a city slicker," a cool voice said from the stair landing. Johnny stood there, leaning casually over the rail.

Scott looked up. "You're a bit late, brother," he said. "I do trust we didn't interrupt anything."

Johnny smirked. "Nope. Didn't even hear any of the commotion until I finished what I was doing."

Murdoch seemed to be at a loss for words. He reached down to retrieve his hat from the floor. Tom Newman got slowly to his hands and knees, and then to his feet. His brothers were stirring too.

"This ain't over, pretty boy," Tom said to Scott. "Not by a long shot."

"That's enough!" Murdoch snapped. "Shut up, Newman, and stay away from my son."

"You can't tell me what to do," Tom blustered. "I ain't scared of you, Mr. Lancer. I ain't scared of any of you."

"Perhaps you should be." Murdoch turned to the bartender. "I'll pay half the damages, Abel. What do you make it?"

The man looked the room over, calculating. "Three dollars should do it, Mr. Lancer. More than fair of you to pay half. I gotta say your boy didn't start this. Tom did, shooting off his mouth."

"To hell with you, Grandy," Tom said. "Don't think you'll get a damned penny out of us, you ass wipe."

"Huh." The bartender gave him a sour look. "I didn't. You and your brothers can take your business elsewhere from now on, and good riddance. Your daddy still hasn't settled last month's tab."

Murdoch reached for his billfold but Scott waved him off. The young man dropped three silver dollars on the bar. "I can assure you that I will be settling my own bar bills, not my father," he said to the bartender. "Promptly."

Johnny chuckled from the landing, where he was still lounging against the rail. Tom glared at both of them.

Cipriano saw the movement out of the corner of his eye, too late. Tom had pulled his gun and was raising it, his eyes on Scott. Before he could level it, a shot sounded and the gun fell to the floor.

"Ow!" Tom howled, clutching a bloody hand as he doubled over.

Johnny spun his gun before he replaced it in its holster. "Get him out of here," he said to the other two Newmans. They goggled at him, open-mouthed. "Move."

They moved. They moved faster than Cipriano would have believed possible.

Murdoch was staring at his second son, as well he might. It was an incredible shot even if Johnny had paused to aim, which he had not.

It was also a dangerous one. It would have been less risky to shoot to kill.

Scott was the first to regain his voice. "Good shooting," he said, a small smile on his face.

Johnny shrugged. "Owed you, Boston."

"I'd just as soon keep that account open for future transactions, brother."

Johnny didn't answer. He slid down the banister, landing lightly on his feet. "Tequila," he said to Abel, flipping a coin onto the bar. He jerked his thumb at the piano player, who returned to his stool and began to play again. The poker games resumed at the tables.

"John," Murdoch said after the bartender poured the drink. "You could have killed Tom Newman. Why didn't you?"

Johnny swallowed his shot and set the glass on the bar. "Didn't need to. Hey, Scott, what did you do with the dog?"

"We need to talk." The rancher grabbed his son's arm when Johnny turned away. He reacted immediately to the touch, pulling away.

"Keep your hands off me," he warned.

"Look, I just want to talk to you. That's why I came into town, to try to talk to you."

Johnny shook his head. "Where's Fidel, Scott?"

Scott hesitated. "The dog is out behind the doctor's house. Johnny, don't you think you should listen to what Murdoch has to say?"

"Nope." Johnny's spurs jingled as he crossed the floor. He pushed the doors hard. They swung behind him.

Chapter 19

Scott addressed his father. "Are you just going to let him go?"

"He's not a child, Scott. He's a grown man." The patron glanced upstairs.

"You came this far, sir. In the morning, once he talks to that boy, he'll be gone."

"What do you mean, once he talks to the boy?"

Scott's eyes went to Cipriano briefly and then back to his father. "Johnny came into town to return the dog to Felipe."

"So he's changed his mind about taking the job?"

"No, Senor." Cipriano could not keep quiet any longer. "He did not ever intend to work for the boy. Felipe misunderstood something Senor Johnny told him, and he did not have the chance to explain."

"And what was that?"

The segundo looked steadily at his employer. "Juanito told Felipe the price would be too high for a boy to pay."

"I know Johnny Madrid doesn't come cheap," he said bitterly.

"No. It was not the money. He said killing a man would take a piece of Felipe's soul, even if someone else pulled the trigger."

Murdoch was silent for a few minutes. "Johnny said that?"

"Si. But he did not mean for the boy to take it the way he did."

Comprehension dawned on the patron's face. "The dog? That's why Felipe gave Johnny his dog?"

Cipriano nodded.

He chewed on that, frowning. "If Johnny intends to give the dog back, why hasn't he done it already? He had all day."

"Felipe wasn't here," Scott said. "I went to the store first when I got to town. His grandfather had business in Spanish Wells today, and Felipe went with him. Senora Baldemero told me they wouldn't be back until suppertime. Then the whole family was going to church."

Outside, a dog barked.

Fidel was loose in the moonlit square, his tail high and his nose low as he sniffed the ground outside the church. A frayed length of rope trailed from his collar.

Cipriano could see candlelight flickering in the church windows. The service had another hour to go before the big door would open.

Fidel sat on his haunches and howled. Another dog answered somewhere in the quiet town.

"Dammit, dog, haven't you made enough trouble today?" Something clattered on the boardwalk and Johnny swore. His voice, from the shadows, was less calm than usual. "Come on, Fidel. Here. C'mon."

Fidel let out another unearthly howl. Just outside the saloon doors, Murdoch laughed. "Just a minute," he said to Cipriano and Scott. He disappeared into the saloon again and emerged carrying something.

"What's that?" Scott asked.

"Bait," Murdoch said. He advanced into the middle of the street and tossed something on the ground in front of Fidel. The dog gulped it down eagerly.

"What are you doing?" Johnny took a step into the street.

"What does it look like I'm doing? Did you feed this animal tonight?"

Johnny was silent and Scott spoke. "I did. Johnny was otherwise engaged."

"Well, he still seems to be hungry."

"He's a dog," Johnny said. "He's always hungry. Is that steak you're giving him?"

"Yes," Murdoch said, holding out another chunk in his hand. Fidel went to him, tail waving.

"You're giving good steak to a mongrel dog?"

"I'm not sure I'd go quite that far. I'm giving a saloon steak to the dog." Murdoch handed Fidel the last, largest piece of steak and picked up the rope.

"Hey, wait a minute," Johnny protested as Murdoch started to lead the dog away. "Where are you going with that dog?"

"I'm taking him back to the ranch for the night. I don't want anything to happen to him before you give him back to Felipe."

"Nothing's going to happen to him."

"I don't know," Murdoch said. "Grandy might let you take a dog upstairs for the right price, but I doubt the young lady or Fidel will be happy about sharing the bed."

"I've got a room at the cantina, old man."

"That is hardly the place for a dog either, boy. Senora Alvarez polishes that place like an army officer's boots. She'll have your head if she catches you smuggling a dog into one of her rooms. You can sleep there if you want, but Fidel will spend the night at the ranch. Cipriano, would you get my horse from the livery? I'd like to get home before the moon sets."

"Certainly, Senor."

"I'll come with you," Scott said. "Want us to saddle your palomino, brother? Or are you going to ride out to the ranch tomorrow to fetch the dog after sleeping in a lumpy bed in a noisy town?"

"Look, just leave the dog," Johnny said.

"It will be Easter morning, of course," Scott added. "Maybe you want to go to the early service. They'll ring the church bells for it, won't they, Cipriano?"

"Si, Senor," Cipriano said, glad that his moustache hid his smile. "The church has a very good set of bells, nearly loud enough to wake the dead. They'll start to ring at sunrise. But Senora Alvarez will wake you before then, Senor Johnny, so you have plenty of time to get ready for the early Mass."

"That's right," Murdoch agreed. "It will never occur to Isabella that you might not want to go. She knew you when you were a child, you know."

The dismay on Johnny's face was visible even in dim light.

Scott yawned ostentatiously. "I'm looking forward to sleeping in Sunday morning," he remarked. "Nothing like a long, uninterrupted sleep in a nice, comfortable bed."

Johnny looked at Murdoch and Cipriano. Fidel was pushing his nose into Murdoch's hands, checking to see if there might be any more steak in them. The rancher caressed his head roughly and told him to sit. The dog sat.

"Johnny?" Scott said.

He said something extremely rude in Spanish. Cipriano's smile grew. The second son was stubborn and proud, too much so. He was not loco. He would have to ride out to the ranch again to get the dog. It would be foolish for him to pass an uncomfortable night in town. Of course, he could just abandon the dog and leave it to his father or brother to return it to the boy. Cipriano hoped he would not do that, for Felipe's sake as well as Johnny's.

"Does that mean yes or no?" the older brother asked patiently.

"Mierda," Johnny said.

"Five minutes while you get your stuff from the cantina?"

Johnny looked again at his father and the dog.

"Ten," he said as he walked away.

The patron actually smiled. He reached down and patted the dog. "Bait," he said to Scott.

Chapter 20

The palomino was still in the barn when Cipriano returned from Mass on Easter morning. Maria had said that Senor Johnny and Senor Scott were not up yet when she served breakfast to the patron. The dog had spent the night in the patron's room, she added, wonder in her voice.

Lancer hosted a feast for all of its employees and their families on Easter Sunday. A side of beef had been cooking through the night over a fire pit behind the hacienda. The mouth-watering aroma, more than the distant church bells, signaled the end of Lent for the segundo.

It did not alarm him to see the doctor's buggy in the barn, since he knew Sam Jenkins was among the invited guests. The doctor was drinking coffee with the patron in the shade of the corredor that ran down the side of the hacienda. Murdoch waved Cipriano over and poured him a cup. Fidel thumped his tail, but did not get up from his place near the rancher's feet. He had a new rope attached to his collar, but seemed content.

The patron had a purple bruise under his eye and a sour expression on his face.

"I've just been telling Murdoch he's old enough to know better," the doctor said. "Both of you should have more sense than to be brawling in a saloon with men half your age."

"We didn't do so badly, did we, Cip?"

Cipriano had already heard enough on this subject from his wife and sister. He waved a hand vaguely and drank his coffee.

"Sam says the Newman brothers didn't stop at his place last night to get Tom's hand treated," Murdoch said.

"Damn fools," the doctor said. "I would have cleaned it out and patched him up even if their father still owes me for the last time."

"Sounds like Newman has run up quite a few bills in town," Murdoch said thoughtfully. "I know he didn't pay his account at the store before he took his business to Green River, and Abel Grandy said something last night about a bar bill."

"I heard he paid off his ranch hands yesterday and let them go," the doctor said. "He told them he and his boys could handle the work themselves."

"Really?" Murdoch's brows rose. "Most of the ranches are hiring more men, not letting people go. I don't know how Newman is going to get through roundup and branding with just the four of them, especially if Tom can't use his hand."

"That's his problem," Sam said. "He should be in jail anyway. I hope you haven't changed your mind about bringing the marshal in."

"No," Murdoch said.

"The sooner he gets here, the better. You know Newman is going to have even more of a grudge against Johnny now. Scott too, most likely."

"He shouldn't." Murdoch scowled. "He's lucky Johnny only shot Tom in the hand."

"From the sounds of it, it was lucky for Scott that Johnny was there."

"I know." Murdoch picked up the coffee pot and poured more for all of them. "None of us could have done anything in time. I can't believe how fast he is. I knew he had to be good with a gun, but I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes."

"Maybe it's a good thing the Newmans saw it," the doctor said. "They might think twice about taking him on."

"If they had any sense." Murdoch sounded dubious about that. "What do you think, Cipriano?"

"They have no sense." Cipriano had thought about this on the journey to and from town, and all through the Mass. It was one of the reasons he was relieved to see the palomino in the barn. Johnny would win a fair fight, but the Newmans knew better now than to face him in anything like a fair fight. What concerned the segundo was the possibility that they would hide behind a rock with a rifle.

"Well, no need to worry about them today," the doctor said. "Where are Scott and Johnny anyway?"

"They slept in." Murdoch sounded grouchy. "I don't know how they can sleep away the whole morning."

The doctor chuckled. "You have a lot to learn," he told the rancher. "Although you did pretty well last night."

"Did I?" Murdoch rubbed his face and glanced at Fidel. "Dogs are easier than sons."

"Well, at least you got Johnny to come home."

"But not to stay. Tying a rope to his collar isn't going to work."

Sam snorted. "No, it's not, although I can see where it might be tempting. Murdoch, do you want me to talk to him? Apart from everything else, it's too soon for him to ride out of here. He's not in any shape for it."

"You cleared him to work."

"With limits. The trouble is he doesn't know the meaning of the word. He got back on his feet quicker than I expected, but he still needs to take it easy for a while."

Cipriano looked up. "He does not know what that means either."

"Like father, like son," the doctor said. "Seriously, though. It's fine for him to work on the ranch as long as he doesn't overdo it. The exercise and fresh air are good for him. But he also needs plenty of rest and decent meals. He's not likely to get either if he's out on his own, looking over his shoulder all the time. I don't want him sleeping on the ground or making do with jerky for dinner. He doesn't have any reserves if he catches so much as a chill."

The patron sighed. "Maybe we should both talk to him, Sam, but I don't know if he'll listen. He's so damn stubborn."

Cipriano did not think that was surprising. The doctor agreed with him.

"There's the pot calling the kettle black," he said.

"Perhaps," Cipriano began, and stopped.

Murdoch set his cup down. "What were you going to say?" he asked.

"He could not leave the ranch today without a horse."

"He has a horse. The palomino is his, whether he stays or goes."

"Yes," Cipriano said, glad to hear the patron say it. "But perhaps it would be a good thing if I turned it out into the pasture. He is more likely to give the horse a day of rest than himself. "

Chapter 21

Johnny gave the segundo a suspicious look when he explained why the palomino was not in the barn. After a long pause, though, he accepted Cipriano's suggestion that the horse deserved a day off after working all week.

It was not necessary, and they both knew it, but Cipriano thought the young man had a soft spot when it came to that horse. He was pleased to see that he was correct. Johnny would have scorned a suggestion that he needed a day's rest, but he would do what was right for his horse.

It helped when Elena pointed out briskly that the Baldemeros would be busy today with their own Easter celebration. Senora Baldemero had said something about visiting family after Mass. No, Elena said, she wasn't sure where they were going. They had a large family. It could be any one of a number of farms, in opposite directions. Cipriano could have kissed her if he were in the habit of kissing his wife in public. She smiled, as if she knew what he was thinking, and sent him to check on the fire pit.

She put both Lancer brothers to work, helping to set up the tables in the shade of the orchard. Teresa and some of the other girls came outside to spread tablecloths, chattering and laughing, while the women began to set out bowls and platters of food.

It was a small gathering this year, in comparison to past Easters. A year ago, Lancer had more than 100 vaqueros, many of them family men. They had hired more men in recent weeks, but still had fewer than fifty. None of the new men had families with them. A few had expressed interest in bringing their wives and children here. Most would drift on to other places in a few months or even less. It would take time and patience to build the ranch back to full strength.

Cipriano sighed, and turned his attention to the job of carving the meat.

Johnny seemed to be avoiding both his father and the doctor, but Elena had an eye on him. He hung back when everyone began to fill their plates. When he headed toward a table occupied by some of the younger hands, she cut him off and somehow managed to herd him to his father's table.

He had no more chance than his father's cattle did against a skilled vaquero on a good cowpony.

Scott and Teresa followed Johnny and Elena to the table. Maria was already there with Murdoch, Cipriano and the doctor. Cipriano's son-in-law, Julio, was absent. The patron had sent him to Modesto to deliver some horses. Not so coincidentally, that was where they had sent Julio's wife and children to stay during the raids. Lucia and the children would return with him, another step toward restoring what was lost, but not until the end of the week.

Johnny chose a seat next to Maria, who beamed at him and patted his arm. Cipriano could not hear what she said to him, but he gave her a shy smile. The young man concentrated on his food while the others talked. His appetite, at least, had made a full recovery.

Fidel was busy chewing on a meaty bone. The patron had kept the dog by his side, still tethered to a rope. After a few more skirmishes, the ranch dogs had decided to tolerate the intruder, or at least refrain from challenging him while he was under the big rancher's protection. Skilled food thieves, they were not invited to the feast but Cipriano knew someone would have slipped them some bones too. There was plenty for all, more than enough.

The afternoon slipped away peacefully. They ate until they were ready to burst, and one of the vaqueros brought out a guitar and strummed on it. Cipriano banished his feeling of unease and went to play horseshoes with the patron and some of the other men. The few children left on the ranch started a game of tag in the meadow beyond the orchard.

Johnny was under one of the apple trees with Fidel, not quite asleep, but not fully awake either. Scott and Sam Jenkins were still sitting at the table, talking about a book and whether men would ever travel to the moon.

The doctor thought the idea was nonsense, but Senor Scott did not agree. Cipriano did not care. He had no wish to visit the moon. Mexico was as far as he ever wanted to travel. He certainly did not wish to climb into a giant cannon and rocket through the sky. That would be even noisier than the train.

He lost all interest in the conversation when Scott said something about the writer being French. Cipriano had no great opinion of the French. Too many relatives in Mexico had died while fighting the occupation. It had only been three years since the republicans finally took back the capital and executed the foreign emperor, Maximilian. He wondered idly if Johnny had seen any of the fighting.

"Cipriano?" Murdoch was holding out the horseshoes. "Your turn."

His feeling of unease returned with the riders, a dozen of them. The doctor was just leaving to visit some elderly homesteaders before he drove back to town. The women had packed food for him to take to them, and the two eldest Lancers had carried the hampers to the front of the house while Cipriano and Johnny went to get the buggy.

Murdoch watched the riders come in. "What the devil are they doing here?"

"Who are they, sir?" Scott asked.

The patron did not answer. He strode across the yard. "Clem," he said to a sandy-haired man who owned a ranch to the north. "I didn't expect to see you on Easter Sunday."

"Murdoch." The other rancher looked embarrassed. "There's been some trouble. I came to see if maybe we could get it straightened out."

"What kind of trouble?"

His eyes went to Johnny, who was standing with Cipriano. "George Newman says someone tried to ambush him and one of his boys this morning. He says the shots came from your land."

"Anyone hurt?"

"No. Not this time."

"Did they see who fired the shots?"

"Well, George says it was one of your sons, the younger one."

"He's lying," Murdoch said flatly. "Both of my sons have been here all day."

"It happened around eight-thirty, nine o'clock this morning."

The patron flushed. "John was here, Clem."

"Anyone who can swear to that?"

Cipriano frowned. He knew Johnny had not put in an appearance downstairs until well after ten o'clock. The segundo did not believe the young man had slipped away from the hacienda to take potshots at the Newmans, but he did not think anyone could swear it was impossible.

"Yes," Murdoch said without hesitation. "I can."

Chapter 22

"Sorry, Murdoch," the sandy-haired rancher said, draining a glass of ale and wiping his mouth. The patron had invited the riders to dismount and have a drink before they left. "You understand, we had to check on Newman's story."

"I understand," he growled.

The other man looked at Johnny. "Hope he understands too. I sure wasn't aiming to make Johnny Madrid mad at me."

"Lancer," the doctor said.

"What?"

"His name is Lancer, Johnny Lancer. And you're a fool, Clem Foster, to be riding over here on George Newman's word."

"Aw, Sam, I'm just trying to keep the peace. It's almost time for spring roundup and the last thing we need is a feud between the members of the cattle growers association. Murdoch would do the same thing in my place."

"That doesn't make it any less foolish," the doctor said. He drove out after the riders, still grumbling.

Johnny was slumped at one of the tables, playing with a beaded bracelet he wore on his wrist. The young man hadn't said anything at all since Murdoch revealed that he had looked in on his sleeping son several times during the morning. Yes, the patron said. He was sure, beyond any doubt, that Johnny was upstairs in his bed between eight-thirty and nine. Johnny had kicked off all the covers, and he had pulled them up at quarter to nine.

Some of the riders had smiled at the idea of Murdoch Lancer tucking in a notorious gunfighter. They quickly sobered up under Johnny's glare. Cipriano did not think Johnny would actually shoot anyone, not even the patron, over something like this, but he could not blame the young man for his anger.

Maria had also admitted to visiting Johnny's room before and after Mass, but she had a better excuse. The first time, she had delivered a freshly ironed shirt. Later, when she returned from town, she carried jugs of hot shaving water to both sons' rooms. Senor Scott was just getting up at the time. Senor Johnny was still asleep.

Murdoch gave his younger son a defensive look once the neighbors left. "You've been sick," he said. "I got in the habit of checking on you."

Johnny had tamped down his anger, but the fire had not gone out. "Why?"

"Why do you think? To make sure you're all right!"

The idea appeared to baffle him.

Scott cast a cautious look at his brother and showed his good sense by attempting to change the subject. "Sir, do you suppose someone really did shoot at Newman and his son?"

"Who knows," Murdoch said. "He probably made up the whole thing."

"Why would he do that? What does he stand to gain?"

"Revenge, maybe, for what happened in the saloon last night. Or maybe he figured we'd make a deal, and wouldn't press the charge against him to get him to drop the charge against your brother. Maybe a little bit of both."

Scott chewed on his lower lip. "What if Mr. Newman didn't make it up except for the part about seeing Johnny? What if someone really is trying to kill him and succeeds?"

"Good riddance," Johnny said flippantly. "Too bad he's not a better shot."

Scott was not amused. "This could be serious, Johnny. If anything does happen to Newman or his sons, you're likely to be a prime suspect. What if one of us can't vouch for your whereabouts next time, or a jury didn't believe us? Murdoch is your father, and people might think he's just trying to protect you."

Johnny rolled his eyes. "That's loco," he said. "Besides, nobody can say I work that way. I haven't ever bushwhacked anyone - and if I did, I sure as hell wouldn't miss."

"Pardee and his men terrorized this whole valley for months, brother. People think all gunfighters are just like him."

"Well, they're wrong." Johnny got up. "I'm going to take Fidel into town."

"No," Murdoch objected. "Scott could be right, John. In fact, I don't want either of you to go anywhere on your own for a few days."

"Shit." Johnny usually swore in Spanish, but he used the English word. "I'm not a fucking kid."

"Watch your language, boy!"

Johnny switched to Spanish. Cipriano's mouth dropped slightly as he told his father exactly what he could do with himself.

"Juanito!" It was Elena and she was as furious as the young man. Johnny broke off as soon as he saw her standing there.

"Lo siento, Senora," he mumbled. "I didn't mean for you to hear that."

She gave him a stern look. "I have heard all of the words before. I am not surprised that you are angry. I am surprised you are being so stupid. Your brother is right, and you know it."

He scuffed his boot against the ground, dropping his head. She waited a moment and turned on Murdoch.

"You need to think too," she scolded. "Your sons are not children. If you wish them to respect you, you need to treat them with respect as well. Johnny is not sick any more and he is not a little boy who needs his papa to check on him while he sleeps."

"I didn't mean any harm," Murdoch protested. He hesitated, as if searching for words. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to embarrass you, John."

"Tell him the real reason," Elena ordered.

The patron's face got redder and he looked away.

"Tell him!"

"I just wanted to make sure he was still here," he blurted. "I'm afraid the bed will be empty and he'll be gone, like before."

Johnny and Scott both stared at him. Elena nodded, satisfied. "That was a terrible day," she said to Johnny.

All three of the Lancers seemed to be stunned. The segundo cleared his throat. "Perhaps I should post extra guards tonight," he suggested.

Scott recovered first. "Yes. I think that's a good idea."

"I'm going to take the dog for a walk." Murdoch's voice was gruff and he did not look any of them in the eye.

Chapter 23

The Baldemeros were on their way home in a wagon. Senora Baldemero shifted on the wooden seat. The liveryman had promised her that he had checked the wagon carefully and it was in perfect condition. He had also refused to take any payment for its use.

It still was not comfortable.

Maria-Luisa and her cousins were sitting in the hay in the back of the wagon, whispering secrets to each other. Senora Baldemero gave them a baleful look. The foreman of a nearby ranch had joined them on the farm for Easter breakfast, and she did not like the way her granddaughter had flirted with the young man. They were packing the girl off to the convent school just in time.

Felipe was sitting apart from his sister and cousins. He was still moping about his dog. Senora Baldemero had even less sympathy for him.

At first, they did not ask any questions about the dog's absence. Senora Baldemero had noticed the dog was missing Friday night when they returned from church, but assumed that Fidel had run off to visit a neighbor's female dog and would come home when the animal went out of season. It would not be the first time.

Felipe did not even confess on Saturday evening, when he returned from Spanish Wells with his grandfather and Senora Baldemero demanded to know why both Lancer sons had been asking for him earlier in the day.

She was suspicious, but she had no time to extract the full story. Alfredo and Felipe were late getting home, and she had barely enough time to give them a bite to eat and get them ready for church. Her family was not going to disgrace itself by arriving after the service had already started. She devoted her energy to scrubbing her grandson instead of finding out what new mischief he had committed.

They did not hear what Felipe had done until Sunday morning after the Easter Mass. The saloon fight was the main topic of conversation, but someone had also noticed that Senor Johnny had Felipe's dog when he came to town and that Senor Lancer himself was leading the dog when they left. Someone else had talked to one of the Lancer hands and heard all about the destruction of Senor Lancer's hat.

Senora Baldemero did not miss the guilty expression on her grandson's face. She lost no time pouncing on him and demanding an explanation.

Even after he stammered it out, she was not satisfied. She felt there had to be some mistake. She could not imagine that any pistolero would accept Fidel as payment for anything. Senor Johnny was kinder than she imagined pistoleros to be, but even so, it was ridiculous.

Her husband agreed. But Alfredo and her son, Joseph-Luis, were still angry with Felipe. They said it was their business, not an eleven-year-old boy's, to uphold the family's honor. That alarmed Senora Baldemero even more than Felipe's dealings with Senor Johnny, but Alfredo refused to discuss it with her.

She sighed. Alfredo had carefully packed a new Stetson hat, the finest in the store, into the wagon. He had decided that they should stop at Lancer on their way home from the farm. By then, the Lancers would have finished their own Easter dinner and it would not be so much of an intrusion.

Alfredo did not want to wait another day to take that miserable mongrel off Senor Lancer's hands and apologize for the trouble it and his grandson had caused.

Senora Baldemero did not disagree. She did, however, regret the extra miles in the wagon. They had turned off the west road, not far from the Newman ranch, and were bouncing down a narrow track that led eventually to the Lancer hacienda. It was not the main road to Lancer, but a seldom-used back road. It was not a good road.

They lurched a few miles farther and the road became even worse. Senora Baldemero was wondering if she was doomed to end up walking again when they heard the riders.

Alfredo handed over the reins to their son and put his hand on the shotgun they usually kept behind the store counter. Pardee was gone, but the valley was still wary.

"Get down," he ordered.

Senora Baldemero believed a wife should obey her husband, within reason. But she did not think much of the rough wooden plank she was sitting on. She thought even less of the idea that she should sit in the hay.

Her daughter-in-law and elderly aunt joined the children on the wagon bed, but Senora Baldemero did not budge.

As it turned out, there was no need for alarm. Senor Foster led the riders. Senor Foster was one of their customers. He was an important man in the valley, nearly as important as Senor Lancer.

He greeted them politely, tipping his hat to Senora Baldemero.

"You folks headed for Lancer?" he asked. "I don't know if you can get through in that wagon, Senor Baldemero. The road isn't so good, and neither is the bridge over the river. You might be better off going all the way around. I don't think a wagon has been through here in months."

Alfredo looked worried. "It is that bad?"

"Well, I sure wouldn't take my missus and kids over the bridge," he said.

Senora Baldemero had no wish to end up in the river. She sat up straighter on the seat. "Alfredo?"

"Perhaps we should go back," he conceded. He looked at the narrow lane dubiously. "If we can."

Senor Foster's foreman, the young man they had met earlier on the farm, had a toothy, friendly smile. "I'd be right happy to turn the wagon for you," he offered. "Did some freighting work a few years back, over worse roads than this."

"Gracias, Senor Barton," Alfredo said. "That is most kind of you."

"No trouble at all," he said, lifting his hat. Senora Baldemero's eyes narrowed. He seemed to be looking past Alfredo and Joseph-Luis. He was not looking at her either. She turned suspiciously and caught Maria-Luisa smiling at the young man.

Her daughter-in-law had noticed too. "Maria-Luisa," she said sharply.

The girl pouted. Her cousins giggled.

Chapter 24

Fidel was restless. The dog paced back and forth on his rope as the sun dropped low in the sky. He pointed his nose toward the west and howled, a long, mournful noise.

The mongrel did not resemble a wolf in the least. His wiry coat was a golden-brown color, his ears flopped forward jauntily, and his expression was anything but fierce. He did not appear to have a wolf's heart, and Cipriano doubted he had much of a growl, but Fidel had inherited his plaintive howl from his distant cousins.

The dog howled again, the sound lingering in the still air, and the horses edged toward the far end of the corral. They were standing outside the old guardhouse. The party was over and evening chores were underway in the barn. Even on Sundays, someone had to feed and water the animals.

"I know exactly how he feels," the patron said.

Cipriano did not smile, not even as an image of his employer howling at the sky appeared in his head. Murdoch was considerably fiercer than the dog. He had a formidable growl, but the segundo also knew it was worse than his bite. "It will take time. For all of you."

"We don't have that much time." The rancher sounded discouraged. "Not enough to get over all the years he's spent hating me."

He could be right. Cipriano looked out over the range, searching for some answer. Nothing useful occurred to him. He could not truthfully say that Johnny did not hate his father, although he did not think the young man's feelings were quite so simple. He suspected Johnny did not know what to think any more than the patron did. The young man had been furious and confused, all at once, by his father's confession. The segundo had tried to talk to him, but he was in no mood to listen. That was understandable. It could not be easy for him to accept the idea that his mother had lied to him and everything he knew about his own father was a lie. If he did, it meant that much of what he knew about his mother was a lie.

The sky was clear, all except for a wispy cloud to the west. He stiffened as he looked more closely.

It was not a cloud. It was smoke, a puff of dirty gray smoke rising just above the horizon.

Murdoch lifted his head and followed his gaze. "Is that smoke? Newman's place?"

"It looks like it," the segundo said, heading toward the fire bell without thinking. He stopped. It was the custom for neighbors to go to each other's assistance in a fire, but he did not know if that still applied in this particular case. "Should I ring the alarm?"

"Yes," Murdoch said reluctantly. He opened the door of the guardhouse and pushed Fidel inside.

The dog caught up with them a few miles from the road. Cipriano saw it bounding along and swore to himself. But they could not worry about the dog, not now. The smoke was unmistakable now, billowing up in the area of the Newman house.

They came across the wagon on the edge of the road. Senora Baldemero and her daughter-in-law sat on the box, trying to calm the horses and the children. An elderly woman sat on a plank seat across the back of the box, her lips moving as she silently counted off her rosary.

"Fidel!" Felipe shouted when he saw his dog. He threw his arms around it as it leaped into the back of the wagon and lapped his face.

The patron pulled up his horse, waving at his sons and the other men to go on. Cipriano stayed with him. "Senora Baldemero, what are you doing here?" Murdoch asked. "Where is your husband?"

"Senor Baldemero and Joseph-Luis went with Senor Foster and his men when we saw the smoke," she said, wringing her hands. "But Senor, someone is shooting."

It was true. Cipriano could hear guns popping, not far away.

Murdoch took the rope from his saddle and tossed it to Felipe. "Tie up that dog, boy," he said. "And don't let him get away from you. Cipriano, let's go."

The smoke got thicker as they went down the drive to Newman's place, and they could see flames crowning in the trees to the north. They pulled their bandannas up over their noses and went on.

The house, barn and windmill were all ablaze. The blades of the windmill were still spinning, throwing sparks across the yard.

A cluster of men and horses stood at the end of the drive, doing nothing to fight the fire.

"Murdoch, stay back," Clem Foster shouted as they approached. A rifle shot whined.

"What's going on?" Murdoch said. "Who's shooting?"

"Don't know. They're up on the south ridge," Clem said. "They got a crossfire going right across the yard."

"Where are the Newmans?"

"We haven't seen any of them. I hope to hell they got out, but we can't get near the house or the barn."

"Christ." Murdoch looked at the buildings, fully engulfed by flames. Even if they could get close, it was far too late to save anything - or anyone. "Where are Scott and Johnny?"

"Your sons? They were here." Senor Foster twisted his neck, looking. "They rode in with your men. Bart, did you see where they went?"

"Back toward the road, Mr. Foster," his foreman said. "You didn't meet them when you came in, Mr. Lancer?"

Murdoch shook his head. "Have you tried to work your way around the ridge?"

"Nope," the other rancher said. "That would be suicide. You know that ridge. There's no cover at all on the other side."

Murdoch and Cipriano did know the ridge. The Lancer sons did not. From the look on the patron's face, he was thinking the same thing as the segundo.

"Couple of men with rifles can hold off an army from the top," Barton said. "I told your boys that."

"Cip." Murdoch had a strained expression on his face, or what the segundo could see of it above the bandanna. "Maybe we can catch up with them."

The segundo nodded.

Murdoch looked at Senor Foster. "Clem, will you try to draw their fire on this side? Stay out of range, but try to hold their attention."

"Sure," he said.

As he and the patron rode back the way they had come in, Cipriano noticed Senor Baldemero and his son. They were standing with the other men, watching the fire consume the buildings.

The odd thing was the look on their faces. They certainly had no reason to regret the destruction or mourn for the Newmans if they were dead. But the storekeeper and his son looked furious.

Chapter 25

They found Scott and Johnny's horses in the woods, near a foot trail that ran up toward the ridge. The breeze had come up, as the light faded, and was blowing most of the smoke to the north. They had pulled their bandannas down again, and Cipriano could see just how worried the patron was.

Characteristically, he tried to hide it with a show of anger. "Damn it," he said, stomping across the clearing to tie his horse with the others. "Don't they have any sense, either of them? Barton said he told them there's no cover to try to take the ridge."

"Young men are reckless," the segundo said.

"Too damn reckless. Let's go." Murdoch pulled his rifle out of its scabbard. Cipriano did the same.

It took time to walk up the trail, which ran through scrubby trees below the ridge. They could hear gunfire on the other side. At least Senor Foster was keeping his word and drawing fire. As far as Cipriano could tell, no one was shooting on this side, not so far.

The ridge ran west, forming a sort of rocky spine through Newman's land. The house and ranch buildings stood directly under its north face. The land on the south side had little water or graze.

Actually, the land on the north side didn't have a lot of water either. They had to use the windmill to pump water for the house and barn and for the nearby pastures. Senor Newman ran longhorns, not the new Herefords his neighbors were bringing in, but his ranch did not have enough good grazing land to support a large herd.

It was not the best piece of land in comparison to others in the valley. Even so, with hard work and decent cattle prices, they could make a living off it and even turn a profit. Cipriano saw no reason why Senor Newman should not be able to pay his bills in town. The Newmans came from somewhere in Texas. They should be used to running cattle in dry, rugged country.

The trees dwindled as they approached the ridge. On this side, it was mostly bald rock.

Cipriano peered at the top, but the snipers were not visible. Whoever they were, they were taking full advantage of their location. He frowned, thinking, even as he scanned the ridge.

During the trouble with the raiders, Senor Newman had boasted he had nothing to worry about. No one could take his place as long as he held the ridge, where he kept a man posted.

Cipriano had never thought it likely the raiders would bother with the Newman ranch, not with richer prizes more easily available, but had not said so.

It made no sense that Senor Newman had allowed someone to take the ridge now. Most of the ranches had relaxed their guard, but still kept a lookout. The segundo knew the rancher had let his employees go, but the man still had three sons.

He spotted movement in the twilight and nudged Murdoch's arm, pointing. Johnny was climbing the rocks. The segundo could not see Scott.

Murdoch swore aloud. Cipriano agreed with all his heart, but stayed silent.

So far, Johnny had not attracted any attention from the snipers. He was showing some caution, at least. Unfortunately, as he climbed, he dislodged some rocks and dirt. As they clattered to the ground, something moved at the top of the ridge. A rifle sounded immediately.

Cipriano's eyes flew to Johnny. He had managed to wedge himself into a crack between two rocks. A rifle fell from the top, followed by a man, tumbling limply. The shot had not come from the snipers, but from someone hidden near the base of the ridge. Senor Scott must have been waiting with his rifle poised to shoot.

The body bounced a little when it landed, raising a small cloud of dust. It did not move again. Scott was not comfortable yet with his brand new six-gun, but he was deadly with a rifle.

"Richie!" a hoarse voice shouted from the ridge. A head appeared and Scott's rifle cracked again.

"Rich Newman?" Murdoch was staring incredulously at the body sprawled in the dirt. "It's the Newmans up there? That doesn't make sense."

The segundo raised his own rifle as he caught a glimpse of metal and motion at the top of the ridge. Scott fired too, but a bullet still skidded off the rock next to Johnny.

Murdoch was also firing now, and more rifles sounded on the other side of the ridge. Only one rifle seemed to be answering them.

Johnny did not have enough sense to stay where he was. He was climbing again. Cipriano kept firing, praying that it would not occur to the Newmans that Johnny would be so foolhardy.

The rifle at the top of the ridge suddenly went silent. Cipriano stopped firing too, but used the opportunity to reload his gun. Johnny did not pause. He was nearly at the top.

"Newman?" Murdoch shouted. "Newman, what are you doing? Your place is burning to the ground."

A dirty rag, tied to a stick, appeared over the top of a rock. Strictly speaking, it was not white but the idea was clear. "Don't shoot!" a voice called. It was not Senor Newman. The voice was much younger and sounded scared. "Please don't shoot. Pa's dead and we're giving up."

"Throw your guns down then," Murdoch ordered.

There was a pause. "Don't want to break 'em, Mister."

"Throw them down."

He did it. Johnny reached the top of the ridge and disappeared from sight as someone flung three rifles into the air, well away from the rocks. One of them discharged as it landed. The sound echoed.

After a minute, Scott stood up. It was quiet now, eerily quiet. The gunfire on the other side of the ridge had stopped too. The light was nearly gone. Even the glow of the fire on the other side of the ridge was fading. It must have consumed the buildings by now.

"Johnny?" Scott called, his rifle still poised.

Cipriano and Murdoch glanced at each other briefly as they waited for an answer.

"Johnny!"

Johnny leaned over a rock and waved casually at his brother.

Chapter 26

Senor Newman was dead, like his middle son. His youngest son lowered the body on a rope while Johnny supervised. Tom Newman came down the ridge next, awkwardly since he couldn't use his right hand, and then Danny Newman and Johnny.

The patron grabbed his son's shoulders as soon as Johnny reached the ground and scanned him anxiously for any new damage.

"Are you all right?" he demanded. "You just took years off my life."

Johnny's mouth dropped open. It took a moment before he pulled back.

"I tried to talk him out of it," Scott said, smiling at his brother. "He seems to think he's bullet-proof, despite evidence to the contrary."

"You took a big chance too." Murdoch's voice was gruff, as if his display of concern embarrassed him.

Cipriano cleared his throat. This was not the time for the patron to lecture his sons. The segundo looked pointedly at the Newman brothers.

It worked. Murdoch temporarily forgot his sons and glowered at the two other young men instead. "What in hell were you playing at? Foster was trying to help put out the fire."

Neither of them answered right away. Danny Newman was studying his feet. "Pa didn't want anybody to put it out," he finally mumbled. "He set it."

"Shut your mouth," his brother ordered. "It's none of their business."

"No!" Danny said. "He's dead and you ain't going to tell me what to do any more, Tom."

"You can't talk to me like that." Tom moved toward his brother, but Johnny stepped between them.

"Back off," he warned. Tom stopped.

"Why would your father set his own place on fire?" Murdoch asked.

Danny seemed fascinated by the size of his own feet. "He, um, he was in Spanish Wells yesterday, and the banker told him he'd sold the mortgage to the storekeeper in Morro Coyo. Pa figured he was going to lose it anyhow."

"So he decided to burn it?"

"Yessir."

Murdoch shook his head. "What about the stock in the barn?"

"I let the pigs and the milk cow go. We got our horses and stuff waiting down yonder. Pa planned on lighting out for the Nevada territory. He didn't want to take any chance that marshal would find out he's wanted back in Texas. And he was hoping folks might blame Madrid for the fire and maybe even figure he killed us."

Tom exploded. "Shut up, Danny!"

"You shut up! It don't matter now anyway. Pa's dead, and Richie too." Danny looked over at the bodies. "Serves Pa right if you ask me, but Richie didn't deserve this. He didn't want to do this any more than me. We told you we should just git while we could, but you and Pa wouldn't listen. We should've left as soon as Pardee got killed."

"Pardee?" They all stared, but the patron was the one who spoke. "What does he have to do with this?"

"He staked Pa to buying this place, said he needed someone on the inside to tell him about the valley. Promised Pa could have his pick of better land once he was done, and he wouldn't have to worry about any bills he'd run up."

"You goddamn weasel!" Tom lunged for his brother, but Scott grabbed him.

Danny ignored Tom. "Pa blamed him for double-crossing Pardee and killing Uncle Coley," he said, indicating Johnny. "A couple of men holed up at our place for a few days after, and they told Pa all about it."

"Uncle Coley?" Scott snapped to attention, his eyes going to his brother. "What did they tell you?"

"You know, up on the hill before they hit your place, when he told Pardee he was your kin and to get out. Madrid only grazed Pardee, but he shot Uncle Coley dead. Pa swore he'd get him for that."

The patron had also turned to look at Johnny, who looked embarrassed. "I'll go get their horses," Johnny volunteered.

In the end, Scott went to fetch the Newman horses. They tied the bodies across the saddles and led the horses down the foot trail. Cipriano took charge of Danny and Tom.

Nothing was left of the ranch buildings to save. The fire was still moving north, but Senor Foster thought it would run out of fuel and burn itself out long before it reached his boundary. He would keep an eye on it, just in case.

Senor Baldemero swallowed his anger, although his son still looked glum. The storekeeper told the patron he had purchased Newman's mortgage for fifty cents on the dollar. The land and herd were worth that much, and his nephew's murderer was dead. He was satisfied.

Murdoch agreed to put the surviving Newmans in the Lancer guardhouse until the marshal arrived, since Morro Coyo had no jail. He also agreed to put the dead ones in the icehouse until the undertaker could pick them up.

They stopped at the wagon to tell Senora Baldemero that Senor Newman and one of his sons were dead, and her husband and son would be along shortly. She crossed herself at the news. Then she presented the patron with a new hat to replace the one her grandson's perro had destroyed.

He thanked her, but insisted it was not necessary. She was adamant. They were sorry the child had imposed on Senor Johnny. It would never happen again, she assured him, looking uneasily at the young man.

Felipe was sitting under a tree, his arms wrapped protectively around his dog. He bit his lip and got to his feet.

"Here, Senor," he said to Johnny, holding out the rope. "Fidel is yours now."

Johnny accepted the rope, to the segundo's surprise. The patron swung around to look at his son.

"Guess you got what you wanted, huh?" Johnny said to the boy.

"Si, Senor." Felipe didn't sound convinced. His eyes slid from Fidel to the blanket-wrapped bundles on the horses.

"Thought you'd be happy about it, kid," Johnny said. "You wanted Newman to pay for killing Angel. Isn't that what you said?"

"Yes."

"Is it the dog you're sorry about?"

Felipe's ears turned pink. "I agreed to give him to you," he muttered.

"So what's the problem?"

He didn't answer right away. Johnny gestured at Murdoch to keep quiet. "If you're not satisfied, you better tell me why. Did you want the other two Newmans dead too?"

Felipe looked up at that, surprised. "No."

"It might be better, you know." Johnny's voice was as indifferent as if he were discussing the weather. Cipriano thought he understood what the young man was doing, but could not be sure. He could not tell anything from that deadpan face or voice.

Felipe looked at Tom and Danny, still sitting on their horses. Tom was sullen. Danny looked petrified.

"No," the boy said.

Johnny studied him. "Why not? No extra charge, kid."

Felipe kicked at a stone in the road.

"You going soft now? You're the one who wanted to get even so bad you gave me your dog to shoot a man for you. You sure can't care much about that dog. For all you know, I might get mad and decide to shoot him too for chewing up my old man's hat."

"You wouldn't." The boy's voice was weak, as if he was trying to convince himself.

"Don't kid yourself." The gun was in Johnny's hand in one fluid motion. "You think it's harder to kill a dog than a man?"

Felipe looked sick. His grandmother started to scold in Spanish, and Johnny snapped out a few words in Spanish. He also cocked his gun.

Scott strolled forward in the silence. "I believe you've made your point, brother."

The corner of Johnny's mouth turned up. "You think so?"

Scott nodded, his face serious. "Sufficiently so, yes."

"What's that supposed to mean, Boston?"

"In a word? Yeah."

A smile flashed across Johnny's face. He holstered his gun before he went over to the back of the wagon. He tied the dog's rope to it and checked the knot to make sure it was tight.

Felipe watched, puzzled. "What are you doing, Senor?"

Johnny scratched Fidel's ears. "I didn't do the job, kid."

"You didn't? But - but they're dead."

"Yeah, they are, but it's nothing to do with you. Scott shot them, not me. And it was only because they were shooting at us from the top of the ridge. We didn't even know it was them."

Felipe's face brightened. "Truly? It was not my fault?"

"Not this time," Johnny said. He turned away and swung up on his horse. The girls murmured, their eyes on him, and Senora Baldemero seemed to come out of a trance.

"Maria-Luisa!" she said.

Chapter 27

Cipriano was smoking a cigar on his porch after supper Tuesday evening when a large figure stepped out of the shadows. He had not seen the patron since early in the morning.

"He knows how to sign his name," Murdoch said without any preliminaries.

The segundo smiled in the dark. "So it is done? They are partners in the ranch now?"

"Yes. But I call the tune."

His smile grew. That should be interesting to watch.

"I'm going to assign them to work together while they learn the ropes."

"That sounds like a good idea," Cipriano said gravely.

"A wise man suggested it." Murdoch lifted his hand and Cipriano saw he was carrying a bottle and two glasses. "Have a drink with me?"

"Of course."

The rancher poured brandy and they clinked their glasses together. They sat in silence for a few minutes.

"The marshal got an answer back from Texas," Murdoch said at last. "George Newman was wanted for shooting a deputy sheriff. They offered Scott a hundred dollar bounty, but he said he'd rather not accept it."

He sounded proud. Cipriano glanced at him. "Scott did well."

"Yes, he did. He's a fine young man, everything I could have wanted."

"Johnny did well too," the segundo ventured.

He hesitated. "Better than I expected. I still don't know why he didn't just tell us what happened on the hill with Pardee and Coley."

"Would you have believed him?"

The silence stretched out again, not so comfortable as before. The patron still had questions about his second son. The son had questions too. Neither of them would ask or answer; they were men who trusted action more than words. At best, the segundo thought they were puzzled enough to give themselves some time to find out more. That was a start.

Cipriano was not a fool. He was sure Johnny had done things that would dismay them both, but he did not think Murdoch had reason to be ashamed of his younger son.

Johnny could easily have turned out worse. The Newman brothers had, all of them as far as the segundo was concerned. He did not care for the way the youngest had turned on his family. If the boy had cojones, he would have defied his father to his face, not after the man was dead.

He wondered if Murdoch would really be happy if his sons followed his orders blindly. It did not matter. It was not likely, not in either case. The patron was a fortunate man even if he did not realize it yet.

"I am glad they are both staying," he said. "They are in the house?"

"No, they're still in town." Murdoch took another sip of brandy. "The railroad misplaced one of Scott's trunks and he wanted to see if it came in on the stage. Johnny said he'd keep him company, which probably means they're both in the saloon."

"They are young." The segundo smiled again. "You remember what it was like."

"That's the trouble," Murdoch grumbled, reaching for the bottle. "I do remember."

Cipriano laughed. Yes, this new partnership was going to be interesting. "They will be fine," he said.

"They will be replacing fence posts and stringing wire bright and early in the morning. Maybe it will teach them to come home at a decent hour."

"It is all right for Johnny to do this?"

"It's a lot better than rock climbing," Murdoch said, touching on another grievance. "As long as he takes breaks, yes. Scott can keep an eye on him. I thought I'd start them in the south pasture."

Cipriano combed his moustache with his hand. That pasture was not far from the house. The patron would also be able to keep an eye on both of his sons.

He changed the subject. "What about the Newman brothers? What is the marshal going to do with them?"

The rancher sighed. "Nothing. It looks like Tom has lockjaw. That gunshot wound wasn't too bad but he didn't do a thing for it except wrap it in a filthy rag from the livery stable. By the time we got the doctor to treat it Sunday night, it was a mess. Sam doesn't think he's going to make it."

Cipriano frowned. Tom Newman was no good, like his father, but this was a bad way to die. It could also mean more trouble. "The marshal, he knows that Tom drew his gun first and Johnny was just defending his hermano?"

"Yes," Murdoch said. "He talked to Abel Grandy and some of the other witnesses."

"What about the other brother? What will happen to him?"

"No one's pressing any charges. If he hadn't talked, we wouldn't know his father was working with Pardee, and there's no evidence against the boy. He's going back to Texas. Maybe he'll make something of himself there."

The segundo doubted it.

"Did you hear about Maria-Luisa Baldemero?" Murdoch asked.

"I know they are sending her to a convent school in Santa Clara," the segundo said, surprised that the patron would be interested. "Esperanza told Elena about it."

"Not any more. She ran off yesterday with Clem Foster's foreman."

"But she is too young."

"It seems she told Barton she's eighteen." Murdoch's voice was dry. "She also managed to convince the justice of the peace at Cross Creek."

"They are already married? What are the Baldemeros going to do?"

"Alfredo is inclined to publish the banns and get the priest to marry them properly. Barton is a good, steady man and maybe marriage will settle Maria-Luisa. They sent out wires to all the towns around, and Bart brought her home when he heard about it. It's too late, of course, but Alfredo says it could be worse. They both insist they're serious about this. He's thinking of setting them up on the Newman ranch."

The segundo shook his head but did not comment. The subject of flighty young wives touched too many sore spots at Lancer.

He heard horses approaching, and muffled voices in the yard. Someone swore and someone else laughed. There was another noise too.

"What the devil was that?" Murdoch sat up in his chair.

"It sounds like your sons are back from town."

The rancher peered into the darkness. "Scott? Johnny?"

"Is that you, sir?" Scott walked across the yard from the barn. The young man had been drinking, but was not drunk, not entirely, if the segundo was any judge. He did seem to be in an excellent mood.

"It's about time you got back," Murdoch said. "Where's your brother?"

"He was just here," Scott said vaguely. "We brought you something, sir."

"Brought me something?" Murdoch sounded surprised.

"Just a little something to go with your new hat." Scott spun around to look at the barn. "Johnny, where are you?"

Cipriano heard the noise again. This time he recognized it for what it was. Johnny wandered out of the shadows, carrying something. He put it down carefully.

Murdoch didn't speak for a moment. "What is that?"

Johnny gave him a wide-eyed look. He wasn't drunk either, but he wasn't quite as coordinated as usual. "You don't know?"

"Of course I know!" Murdoch said. "But what is it doing here?"

Johnny glanced at it and moved his foot. "Peeing. It does that a lot."

Cipriano's shoulders shook. Murdoch glared at him and stepped off the porch. The puppy toddled toward him curiously. It was the color of toffee and had a familiar lop-eared look.

"Fidel is his father," Johnny announced, somewhat unnecessarily.

"You brought me a dog?"

"Yes, sir," Scott said. "It's the only surviving male in the litter, and the barber was going to drown him. Felipe thought of us because you took such good care of Fidel."

Johnny elbowed his brother, scooped up the puppy and handed it to his father. "Anyway, here you go. We have to see to the horses."

"Wait a minute," he objected. It was too late. Both sons vanished into the shadows and the barn door banged.

"You used to have a dog," Cipriano said.

"That was Johnny's dog, not mine." Murdoch looked at the puppy. "I suppose it could be worse. At least the dog won't answer back when I tell him to do something."

It yipped.

THE END

Whistle, May 2007


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